For a short time,
the Camino and I were strangers.
I walked the role as a Casual Observer.

My Casual Observer asked,
“What will you do for me today?”
And the Camino gave me green pastures.

Day two came.
The Camino ushered me to songs —
sheep clanging bells, pleasant music.

Then the road stretched.
It offered mere dust, thistles, and stones
and turned me into a Pilgrim.

Observer vs. Pilgrim —
my two minds debated their roles
while my feet turned steps into miles.

The Pilgrim began looking for stories.
“You’ll miss much just waiting for scenes,”
my Pilgrim brain explained.

“Casual Observer,
you see footprints in the dust.
I see the perpetual progress of people ahead,” the Pilgrim said.

“You see faded-blue planks.
I see a legacy of industry, the work of strong hands.

You see an ancient stoney road.
I see the grueling labor of Roman slaves.

You see the shadows of trees.
I see the golden glow of a constant sun.

You see an arrow made of rocks.
I see the courtesy of a hundred strangers.

You see eroding statuary on church walls.
I see a remedy for medieval illiteracy.

You see graffiti under the bridges.
I see the artistic hands of young men and women.

You see a tower of church bells.
I see a clock, people gathering together.

You see weeds that interfere with your feet.
I see geometry, symmetry, and congruity.

You see a brown thistle.
I see an intelligent designer.

You see a carved door.
I see someone knocking, asking to come in.

You see the walls of poverty.
I see the richness of color, a gift of the earth.”

You see drooping sunflowers.
I see the humility of service.

“You win, Pilgrim. You win with your stories,”
the Casual Observer relented.
“But what a great street scene we enjoyed last night!”