Peru

Adobe bricks

mixed with grass,

sun-dried by the hills,

ancient masonry that

doesn’t rob the earth

of its dignity.

Quinoa fields of

purple, orange, and red

dance like fluttery

melkkhays at the feet of

of the Apus.

Jagged hills transform into

sculpted mountains

so high in the sky,

they know God intimately.

 

Robust eucalyptus trees line the

river beds as the river

moves relentlessly through

the womb of the Sacred Valley.

Rosy cheeks chafed by

the cold sun,

speak in a tongue

that knows the secrets

of Pachamama.

Clouds gently nestled in

the crevices of the mountaintops
watch over the

tapestry of fields sitting

steep on the mountainsides.

Condors gallantly

command the skies with

cape-like wings,

soaring into the contours

of sacred peaks.

A timeless connection

to Pachamama

only understood by those

who humbly walk

the land.