Hence The Luggage
The Weight of It All, an excerpt
I am dragging the remains of my life through the ancient French town of Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port. My existence has been distilled into one hundred pounds of personal detritus. Finally, I am within a few feet of my destination, but the pavement is no longer smooth. It has turned into rough cobblestones laid in shell-shaped patterns. This makes sense, I suppose; the scallop shell is the universal symbol of the Camino, and the road is telling me exactly where I am.
Five days ago, my husband boarded a bus in Cork bound for Dublin, and from there caught a flight to the United States.
Hence, the luggage.
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