A poetic ramble in the Alto da Cacalheira : 30 April 2025
Through morning mist and hesitant skies, five wandered forth, unbowed, unwise. David, Ros, Alan, and Linda stride. Toby, a faithful hound , trotting beside.
The wind whispered warnings, the clouds drew near, yet downward we drifted, free of fear. Baranco da Gata cradled our feet, where shadows and sunlight wove their retreat.
Quinta rose in welcoming grace, laughter tumbling, lightening pace. Westward we climbed where the hills lay wide, Alto de Xincheira, our challenge, our pride.
No murmur, no sigh, only will unshaken, each step a story, a memory taken. A feast of bread, of rest, of cheer, then onward once more, the Algarviana near.
The northern ridge stretched, wild and high, a final embrace beneath an open sky. Back to Baranco, weary yet bright, hikers’ hearts basking in journey’s light.
Peter.....with thanks to Alan for photos
My apologies for amending Peter's script a tad....sounded a hard walk!
ReplyDeleteYon were a right steep 'ill, as my forbears would have said. 😓
ReplyDeleteThanks Peter that there steep hill was a mega one though.
ReplyDeleteIt sounds like one of those days when the corn was as high as an elephant's eye and the birds in the heather were were all a-blether.
ReplyDelete