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  • Writer's picturelperskie

Valle de Cauca

I land in the home of my heart

In the valley of Cauca

where mist meets mountain

steamy heat spires up

from mirrored grounds

and the spraying tops of sugar cane

wave glistening in the breeze


Home- where the weave of time stretches

and curves into a hammock for my soul

where people with hands like birds

that accentuate words

welcome me, kindness diffused

as the generous expanse of tropical sky


Clouds always present, always passing

soften and suffuse brilliant light

rolling down from Olympic heights

like lush ephemeral lava-

they shine pool-like shadows over the valley

and cast hazy veils over

purple pyramid mountains

hiding the outlines of their unwavering forms

with a play of diaphanous mists

and giant smoky white eidolons.


From one hour to the next

the threat of danger pulsates

as billowing clouds limed with light

darken and amass

pregnant with possibilities-

signs come subtly and suddenly:

slightly swaying palm trees, a fresher breeze

the clouds exhale steamy sighs

then burst into rain

and when fully peeved

run a riot erupting with thunder

lancing lightening through the valley

which rumbles with their haunting echoes

until the sun simply reappears.


I have come home

where clouds tease me to be aware

to breathe in and out as

they hide the sun and reveal it

in shifting waves of weightless dispersion.


The skies welcome me,

people, with hands like birds

that accentuate words

welcome me

I am here

a gentle vastness encompasses me

I am home.





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