Guided by thick blankets of fog; Morning-time

Anxious thinking remains her close ally during this journey

The wooing of the spring winds clamber fourth

And as the dire dredge towards Santiago de Compostela carries on; she stops

Her pursuit of a goal takes a momentary crash

This heroine remains nameless, but only to a select few

As she paces along the lonesome road, where silence sleeps

A single tear, channelled from her right eye; falls

Her map makes for confused reading, a blinded book

Darting around for new meaning, a whisper of life is summoned

A townie owl, a juvenile of sorts

Sits atop a moss laden branch, its eye’s so wide

And in this moment of hesitation, the circular sun rises from its slumber

Bursting to life with energy

The road awakens

A passage? Perhaps

She marches on; hopeful

    Doubtless