‘It would be lovely to have a little rain for once,’ I said to my colleague and camera man, ‘from which to take refuge’ and lo and behold the drops started falling the moment I came round the corner and hove into view. I have actually sheltered from sudden downpours in that very doorway a number of times over the years, on my way back to dinner at the nearby village Inn. Every now and again, opening that door opens the senses to the fresh smell of bales and bales of hay, stored there at various times of year. A very ancient and very timeless accompaniment to the shelter-seeking pilgrim.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to David Whyte to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.