Chapter XIX

The road winds white among ashen hills
grey clouds overhead
grey sea below.
The road clings to the strong capes
hangs above the white foam-line
of unheard breakers
that edge with lace the scarf of the sea
sweeping marbled with sunlight
to the dark horizon
towards which steering intently
like ducks with red bellies
swim the black laden steamers.

The wind blows the dust of the road
and whines in the dead grass
and is silent.

I can hear my steps
and the clink of coins in one pocket
and the distant hush of the sea.

_On the highroad to Villajoyosa_