Photo by Albino Jimenez
Esto es para mi amigo Albino, even though I let you down in Nájera. I stood and watched you run alone across the bridge over Rio Najerilla and into the singeing heat toward Belorado. I could have changed my mind. I could have slung on my bottle pack and caught up. There was time – I hadn’t yet bought the bus ticket. But I didn’t. The the previous day’s heat had wrung all the juice out of me. My heart was not hard so much as weak.
Oddly, when I write about the cold day in Seville, described in the following story, my thoughts fly back to the swelter of Nájera, and my failure there.
But they were not all failures.
Read the full story by Dallas Smith by clicking HERE
