The last day I was able to walk the Camino it took 12 hours to go a distance of a few miles.
An on and off again rainy day.
Near dusk it started to rain hard. I could see the village up ahead but I couldn’t get there. It seemed to have backed further away with each step.
Maneuvering was difficult using sticks as crutches under my blowing poncho. My pack and front medicine pouch were getting soaked. The weight felt heavier. Tears burned my eyes and blurred my vision.
A man came up beside me.
Snapped the sides of my poncho closed, adjusted my hood, and covered my bags.
He held my hand and said a prayer in Spanish. Told me to pray to Saint James. I nodded.
He then reached in his zippered belt and gave me a prayer card. The Pilgrims’ Prayer.
I turned to place the card my zippered belt. Looked up. And he was gone.
That night in my bunk I overheard two pilgrims talking about a Spanish man Angel that walks the trail.

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