Orthogonal to old friends

From drinking with old friends in the familiar projection of the original setting, I headed for something new... only to find myself orthogonal to my own path: the road to Santiago running backwards, bearing centuries of pilgrims striving to trancend and open up the boundaries of their world; the fresh green lillies of La Meusse, with its tail hydrating the richest of wines and its head open to every continent sheilded by the dijks of Rotterdam. From Metz to Saarbruken the V-shaped vallies thicken with temperate rain forests before breaking into the vast flood plain of the artery of the mighty Rhine - harnessed to sprout crystal towers. The rich smell of fresh Thungrian pine, the petrification of hiding amongst tall dark fingers and the illumination of the canopy with fairy lights as the morning sun cuts through, were only another step of St. Jaques who wound up along the summer carpet to gaze along the ridge of the Wold and down upon the free state of Martin Luther and inspiration of Bach.