Asturias

65 GIBBONS REGINALD GIBBONS ASTURIAS As it happened, after we had crossed the bridge, it was closed by highway police. Flood water had reached the pilings, spilled over the roadway then into the sea. Storm wrack clogged the narrow bends upriver, here beat against the bridge itself-garbage and waterlogged wood revolving heavily, head-down in the current. We turned inland. Along the high road that comes down with the river from the mountains stood the mud-splashed walls, drowned hives, drenched fields of spring wheat. On a hill opposite, far across the brown water and waist-deep in mist, a man slowly swung his scythe into the straight-falling rain. ...