A poetry Moment of Joy this week. One of my favorite poems. My mother made painted tiles of me hiking through the seasons with the key line of the poem. The Spanish version first (it has wordplay that cannot be replicated in the English) followed by an English translation.
Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino y nada más;
Caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace el camino,
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante, no hay camino
sino estelas en la mar. — Antonio Machado
Traveler, your footprints
are the only road, nothing else.
Traveler, there is no road;
you make your own path as you walk.
As you walk, you make your own road,
and when you look back you see the path
you will never travel again.
Traveler, there is no road;
only a ship’s wake on the sea. — trans. by Mary G. Berg and Dennis Maloney
Ramblings 