Evening in the Andes


Moving slowly

Down the dirt path,


Leaning on a cane.

A simple wooden cane.

Flattened weathered feet,

Gnarled hands holding on.


Moving slowly,

A long black ragged skirt

Shadowing the past,

Shading the future.

Tanned, weathered skin.

Wrinkled smiling eyes

Of days gone by.

Shiny black hair in a bun

Hidden by a hat,

A black felt hat.

Wise, knowing woman

Passing through a lifetime.

A sore back,

A setting sun.


Reaching home


Darkness all around.

An empty room.

Sinking onto the mat

On the dirt floor.


Into another world…

The cold mountain air

Drifts in through the

Open window.

There is no moon tonight.





Photo:  Andes Mountains  Marturius