I left the path. Something drew me aside. Was it the voices of the Celts rising from the boggy ground? Or the battering breath of the wind dragon flapping across the Asturian sky? No matter. I was drawn. By the landscape herself. And I followed her crooked finger. Upward and into the bosk.
One is never disappointed when one heeds the call. For treasure is aplenty, stowed within the contours of the Earth’s body. Under stone. Behind tree. Clattering between the banks of a brook. Perhaps it’s the treasure itself that beckons. Perhaps the gold seeps into the soil weaving glistening trails only instinct can see.
Cold gusts bit into my cheeks. I stopped. Pushing back my hat, I saw clearly. It was an altar. Not that there was a sign. But the presence of the rock, the shimmer of emerald, and the whispers from the pine grove surrounding were explicit.
Few are those who recognise Spain’s Celtic side. Her cooler northern side. Yet Celtic she is. And as I knelt, placing my hands on the rock’s long-chilled hide, something of substance was released.
The word Rune is derived from the root - run or runa meaning whisper or secret. In linguistic terms, runes are the symbolic letters of ancient Germanic alphabets, or even short Norse poems. Runes can be stones inscribed with magical symbols or 'spells too. Welcome to my runes. Are they symbols? Are they poems? Or are they spells? I'll leave it up to you.
Atulya K Bingham is an author, natural builder and lone off-gridder now lost in the hills of northern Spain.
"I consider myself a person who is connected to nature, somebody who respects the earth; this book has me walking through the world with all my senses opened." Emma Blas, editor Her Heart Poetry