Held in the harboring,
nook of crannied valleys,
stretching for miles, upon endless Andes Mountain miles.
Birthed in the bottomless,
pit of rich land, where the primal call
of ancient llama has risen for millions of years, rapt in the swirling mist.
Soft eyes wisped in by full, lulling lashes
peer toward the circular sky, blinking with brightness,
bleating for the taste of nourishment, for the warmth of close community, held by her herd.
The foreign, slipping sound of low, spoken tones
give rise to rustling amid the group, long, lean necks are vigil in their watching,
there’s care-taken in smoothing, testing with wise finger-tips, the valuable fineness of soothing wool.
Brilliant, bursting colors flag in the wind,
the women afield have dyed, spun, woven clothes,
loved, worn, warmed by, babes swaddled in, stood tall in, far-reaching through many generations.
© Hannah Gosselin and Metaphors and Smiles, 2012.