Strangers, amidst the mountain.

hiking, poetry and getting lost.

Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,

You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,)

I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,

All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,

You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,

I ate with you and slept with you,

your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only,

You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,

I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone, I am to wait,

I do not doubt I am to meet you again,

I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

‘To a Stranger’ Walt Whitman.

I embarked upon a hike this morning -

The early sun, the day cold and only myself to lead the way -

I was in search of a waterfall, ‘La Rinconada.'

Hidden somewhere along the recondite spaces of the highlands, en Aldea Santiago Zamora.

I walked uphill and through the dirt,

saw no other one, but coffee trees, volcanoes and wild berries.

I encountered a farm, I followed its narrowth path.

The day had warmed up and still, I searched for a sign of water -

No sign of it for another hour.

Plenty of walking, a quick snack pit-stop and I wondered -

If, I had gone the wrong way.

If, I should trace back my steps and walk another path.

I continued on to where the trail became long and lost between the thickness of the jungle.

The ambient grew obscure and humid,

The soil was wet. My neck kept on dripping,

My dark curly hair got itchy and I put it up even higher.

I closed my eyes and I rested on the soft, moisty moss,

of heavenly green, hugged around the tree lines.

The path became what I had been looking for, a respite.

I heard the laughter of children, the voices of adults down along the endless ravine,

We were there together and yet unknowing to each other - strangers.

I took a breath in through the bare trees - Indio Desnudo.

Its skin peeled off, the colour of ambar.

The moment grew quiet for all of us,

So we could hear the flow of water,

On the rocks,

Through the low valley of the mountain,

the tip-tap of a stream, I heard.

I followed the sound blindly,

The voices returned, I kept sure on my journey.-

Midday upon us and yet, the sun had not yet met my face,

Farfugiums in the shadows of the dense forest,

and my steps followed.

The waterfall which all visited, was not that I saw.

In fact, to my eyes it was a little haven that appeared.

A piece of reconide beauty.

So well deserted, it felt almost as if it had just appeared to satiate my thirst.

I bathed my face in its pure, crystal water.

I sat by the rock that let to its spring - manantial.

The earth’s birthing at my feet,

The way of the stray,

Led me where I needed to; pray, rest, sing.

In solitude and peace.

With eyes closed and a soft humming,

I thanked the mother of this natural spot that found me.

I may have thought I’d arrive somewhere differently,

And yet the recondite spot appeared.

Where the sun of the afternoon had found a way in,

to kiss the flowers, the insects, and the trail where I stood.

I took of my boots, I let my feet touch the now warmly kissed rocks,

I let my hair down and fell slowly onto my back.

Thank God for this spot, I closed my eyes and sat still.

Until the rays of midday sun woke me, and I went on my way.

Unsure if I would ever find such spot again.-

It dissapeared amidst the tall trees and pines,

The sound of its stream grew softer and I traced back my steps to society,

with a new sense of ‘Home.’

Love Always,

Lejana