North from Carrapateira
Violin music floats out above the mist where the horses graze. When aloe blooms, it sends up eight-foot stalks that flower and then dry. These stalks stand wooden and stumbling, beginning to break at their bases.
The dunes we walk are fresh-sculpted, expansive but still damp. Past the waterline, the swells crest in greeting, giant waves claiming credit for the marks of their crashes.
It's good to walk early, the angle of the sun still low enough to highlight every rippling contour of the beach.
We go our own ways, drifting in and out of company with each other. The way is well marked, mostly, but sometimes there is a mapped path on Gaia that we prefer.
With the tide out, Eileen and I take a long beach route while Rick takes the official path above the cliffs. When we rejoin the trail— a roped shortcut up— I recognize Rick's shoe tread in the sand.
Howard is a fast walker but a slow starter, so none of us has seen him since we left the house. I expect he'll catch us in the next couple of hours.
The day warms stepwise, sudden grades like warm gusts that don't diffuse.
I'm sick today, but mostly good to walk. My heart rate rises quickly on the uphills, but today is a pretty flat 13 miles. I got it from Rick; he's been strange-voiced and sleepy for the…
