This week, Ritva reminds us to hit the pause button and search for quiet moments in our lives.

In all honesty, when we engage in quiet we listen closer to contemplation, appreciate timelessness, and find it easy to dwell in nothingness. It feels nice. It feels rejuvenating, and it feels necessary.

I think quiet moments often make us think of a place or a space. It’s true when you think of the blueberry patch in the Bavarian Alps or the meadow in Zion in the photos above. It is also true that with introspection, those deep thoughts that show up unannounced give you your quiet even in a busy market place, or deafening rock concert.

I learned this again in the spring. Sitting on the patio of our hostel in Porto, my journal entry spoke of apprehension. A 180 mile walk would take us to Santiago, Spain in about two weeks. The what ifs continued until I saw snail meandering around that same patio with a message….

Slow and steady wins this race.

We began in the praça outside Se’ do Porto where we gathered credentials and the traditional scallop shell to put on our backpacks. We learn reasons for the journey are varied. Many seek spirituality, renewed health, healing, personal reflection, or because it was spring break.

This guy did it for me.

Most days he went on ahead. He liked to monitor the mile markers, count towns, and pick the cafes along the way.

I love the quiet and have become an expert at journaling while walking. It is when I am closest to my true self, my inner me, my quiet. And it is those quiet moments I stop to run my hand across the wild African daisies and walk barefoot on the Portuguese coast.

We made it. Him with an allelluia and me with tears. It was one of the most profound experiences in my/our life. Hundreds of photos tell many stories, and as we speak of quiet this week, I will share one final photo of this man who arrived in Santiago at sunrise. To say he was in the zone of reflection was an understatement. I talked to him. He never moved.

This was his place, his space, his quiet.

Wind Kisses, Donna

Thank you, Ritva. Next week check in Egidio.