some talk, some walk

While I spent much of my day writing about pilgrimage, a true peregrino was in my living room reading Albert Camus. My nephew was in town for a stopover, carrying everything he needs to live on my couch or, if need be, rough (including a mandolin, for busking). He’s between trips here, there, and everywhere. He’s most recently back from South America, off again in a couple of days, likely to be tree planting in BC come spring. When I told him my grand plans for walking the North West Mounted Police Trail, and explained some of the history behind why we should re-learn the cultural and environmental changes that have done so much damage to First Nations and to the rest of us, eventually he nodded in understanding. “That’s a trip I’d be interested in,” he said, finally, picking a complicated arpeggio on my guitar. “But I would go by myself. And I wouldn’t make a documentary.” I went back to my writing and he went back to being the kind of pilgrim I sometimes write about.