As I set off on my morning walk,
I think of a woman I know, older than I,
beginning a pilgrimage 5,500 miles away
across 100 kilometers of trail older than
both of us, far older than this troubled
country we call home.

What will she and her fellow pilgrims
find on their way? Doesn’t the Earth scatter
love letters on whatever paths we travel?
In that fallen branch with maple leaves
beginning to lose their summer green?

In the small feather tipped blue, melting
into dove gray? In the spiky liquid amber
balls, magnolia seedpods and fat oak galls?
In pebbles on a dusty path in a land new to us?

I wish the pilgrims treasures of all kinds—
not least the intangibles of new friendships,
trust in the creative process and glimmers
winking like mini Morse code, insight more felt
than seen, absorbed into the bones.

From my footsteps to theirs, may wayfaring
transform us in ways that may take years,
perhaps, to recognize, far longer
to understand—

we mere mortals, here so briefly,
walking the sacred path that always circles back,
the one that takes us—no matter how far
afield we go—always in the direction
of home.

•••

(for Melisa McCampbell and her fellow creative pilgrims
led by Laura Davis, Brenda Porter and Andre Mallinger
on the Camino de Santiago)