Regular Stuff

An Introduction to the Next Thing I’ll Write

It feels like we’ve made it. The pulse of urgency that works in the back of my head has slowed to a halt. It doesn’t feel like we still have 100 km between us and Pamplona. It’s 9:30 p.m. and dark on a hillside in Irun. Someone’s garden. Down the hill, past the pillow grass in the tilled dirt rows are little fledgling cabbages, leeks, and onions coming out at awkward angles due to the slope. A wooden fence is beyond that. And then the street. Someone’s garden in Spain. It’s quiet except for the cars in someone’s garden in Spain. We made it here. Walked across the border at sunset. Walked into town, smiled, sat down in this person’s garden in Spain. I turn around, and Shayna is up the hill, sitting like me, her eyes are closed. Irun is small, and the soul-deep serenity feels like what I imagine Spain to be. A pastoral silence, even in the city. In the garden.

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