Dusk in the Andes
En route to our lodging
after a full day
full of stunning views
at Machupicchu
that make your heart soar
and ground your soul.
Our train rolls through
this mountain valley
tracing an ancient path
beside the Urubamba River,
tall shoulders of steep cliffs
hugging either side.
The cars rocking gently to and fro
soft Peruvian music mingles
with soft conversations.
The unfocused mind
pulled by a glance
out the window,
spies a rusty steel bridge
painted white long ago,
that calmly spans the
rumbling rushing waters.
Old lamps on the trestles
cast their golden glow quietly
in the misty haze of the evening.
A father on the far side, looks on
lovingly as his young daughter
in a white pressed dress with lace,
skips lightly as a thistle seed
in the breeze,
across the solid iron,
her rhythmic steps
in perfect pace
with our swaying cars.
We careen toward and then
beyond the bridge,
enveloped within the surreal,
strangely comforting dynamics.
Then padre e hija fade; so too
the bridge, the river, and the cliffs
all swallowed by darkness
as we flow forward
into the night.