Night Chills
Patagonia nights.
Even at the heights of an Indian summer
In Patagonia, the nights are cool and chill
The air holds iciness cold as a grave
And the air drifts past the windows sill.
Therefore, in the nighttime
When all is quiet and the fox sleep
The South American Pumas come creeping
Seeking an unwary alpaca or a sheep.
Never seen in the bright new morning
Nor the days when the Condor glide
The Puma is then the unseen wildlife
And we know not where they hide.
The countryside and hills are full of beauty
Enough strange sights to take your breath away
In the distance stand the regal snow-capped Andes
Dripping glaciers that may never go away.
As the heart gathers pace from gently beating
The anticipation in the veins is coursing through
Another long five-hour rickety van ride
Then raw power and flight in the blue.
Santiago and Australia lie ahead now
As the South American adventure nears her end
Though each moment is frozen photographically
Each minute of the journey and every bend.
Life stretches longer as time moves so fast
And each waking moment a feast and ember
That burns within the need for more
And more experiences to remember.
So as daytime filters through the curtains
And steams and evaporates last night's chill
An experience closes but is not to be forgotten
Slips away quietly from our windowsill.
As the morning tests her palette
And paints the sky in subtle hues
Rising above the grey-green pastures
Spires of mountain light take their cues.
Spires of the rocky Andes Mountains
Reach up and almost touch the skies
Shrouded by dawning dark clouds
A halo of a rainbow appears and then dies.
One second bathed in the early sunshine
Then cloaked with darkened shrouds
Held in a moment's sweet embrace
Then with her head above the clouds.
In the Deep South lands of Patagonia
Where the glaciers carve the ground
And leak waters into the crystal streams
The wild cougar and condor are found.
The clouds form perfect circular shapes
And sit gracefully o’er the lofty snow peak
If only they could tell the ancient tales
And mouth words and softly speak.
In amongst the swirling snowdrifts
Small cabins snug amongst the hills
Curling smoke from burgeoning wood stacks
Warming hands from winter chills.
South America and beautiful Chile
Hugging the long blue pacific coast
Has endured and opened up her arms
And has been our perfect host.
On this last day midst spires of light
A rainbow appeared out of the blue
Wishing sanctity and good bidding
As we pay this country a fond adieu.
©
David Rudder
March 2013
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