The sky over Castile

Castilla is a vast territory, made up of a thousand and one small things, which, from one end to the other, make up such an impressive whole, that what is difficult, after all, for a traveler, for a pilgrim, for a curious person or simply for someone nostalgic for the beat culture preached by Kerouac, what is difficult, of course, is not to be surprised.

Sometimes I think, when I travel alone through these infinite expanses, where the sky seems to have a strange desire to relate closely to that unattainable lover that metaphorically and comparatively speaking is the earth, that for me too, in some way, these intricate paths are as magnetic and seductive, as the famous Route 66 was for Kerouac.

Believe me, it is not an easy task to describe the intense emotions that these historic solitudes provoke in the soul, where the silences are as thunderous as the thunder that always appears behind those heralds that are the lightning and where the ancient churches of each town, whether large or small, become a set of paradigms, which, even without the surprised traveler being aware of it, end up resonating, unlike their bells, in the most remote corner of that gloomy forest, which, after all, is nothing more than the unconscious.

NOTICE: Both the text and the accompanying photographs are my exclusive intellectual property and therefore, are subject to my Copyright.