The other night I had a vivid dream I was walking along an early section of the Camino – from Zubiri to Larrasoana.
In the dream I recalled detail I thought I'd forgotten – the little waterfalls in the creek beside the stream, the coffee stop and the breakfast I ordered. A stone farmhouse on a hill framed through blossoming trees.
These kind of recollections leap at me through the day, too.
For no apparent reason, I'll suddenly recall moments walking, or stretches of the track. The most vivid of these recollections are always about The Way, not about the pilgrims I met on The Way.
It's as though the power of the track itself, the Camino, won't let go of me. It's as though it has burnt itself into my psyche.
But what's strange is that, in my mind, I can remember what was over the next hill, what was around the next corner, what was beyond the bridge.
My memory's usually not that good!
But there are things I grasp to remember, too. And that's what makes me want to go back and walk it again.