Time passes slowly up here in the mountains/We sit beside bridges and walk beside fountains/Catch the wild fishes that float through the streams/Time passes slowly when you're lost in a dream BOB DYLAN Time Passes Slowly from New Morning
The next 2 days, 11 and 12 December, were magical days. We climbed steeply from Ruitelán up to O'Cebreiro - Paul, Ezequiel and I. It was cold and frosty. There were blue skies. The sun illuminated distant misty valleys and fold upon fold of hills (1st pic). O'Cebreiro was a very special place, a high point of the journey both physically and emotionally. We entered the old, grey-stone church of Santa Maria Real. I had my credencial or pilgrim passport stamped. An organ softly played. We sat down for a while. I must have prayed in a vague sort of way. Unspecific thoughts and feelings hovered like ghosts on the border of my conscious and unconscious mind. Then I lit candles in memory of my mother and sister. I took a photo of a pilgrim statue (2nd pic). And outside took a photo of 2 more pilgrims (3rd pic).