by Kip Tobin
LA RIOJA, SPAIN
The atheist and the believer walked together on the path that followed the highway, looking for light.
Everything visible was dampened gray, as if some colossal waterlogged blanket was thrown on top of their sky and hung there, dripping. Incessant raindrops had been pricking their faces for over two hours, and the cutting wind foretold the road ahead without visible end. The others had gone ahead, and they couldn’t see anything except for the highway to their right, the miry path directly in front and the snow-quilted fields to the left that were melting reluctantly in the cold rain.
The panorama was muddy, leaden, soppy.