Image and Text (C) 2011 by Metta Anderson - All Rights Reserved I was standing on the terrace today just about one I guess.
There was a wind, a fresh one, coming in from the west, across the sabana, from the Magdalena Valley on the other side of the mountain and it came across with something like a pulse, a rhythm, not just a simple breeze.
I was standing on a ladder, looking over the wall, to look out over the city toward the south and southwest recontructing in my mind the city as a series of geometric abstract paintings-- sky/cloud/roof/oblong/rectangle/dome/square/spire/flat/textured.
Debating with myself whether or not the resulting paintings would be too. . . What? Obvious too. . . readily identifiable as the view from my terrace as the city of Bogotá, even though I haven't really seen any art at all that refers to Bogotá directly. It's always someplace else. Never here. And then
I closed my eyes and started to thank Jesus and the Virgin for this amazing place for the opportunities presented to me.
And in the middle of this I became aware of a kind of second generation New Age music playing on the radio (you thought it'd be angelical, didn't you? HA! Fooled ya'!)
A clear soprano singing but I didn't catch the words just the sound which was as clear as the air around me
A pause (in my mind) and then it joined with the wind coming out of the west.
Coming out of the west it still pulsed and I felt it contained songs I couldn't hear voices I couldn't hear in languages I couldn't understand
but it was full of souls.
There were people in the wind.
So I paused again thought of Mom. The breeze shifted caressed my hair then my face.
"Hi, Mom," I thought, "how are you? Out for a spin today in your Soulmobile?"
More breeze more caress
"Soulmobile. After three husbands and GM goes belly-up, you deserve it. A Soulmobile
V-8 engine fully loaded convertible, maybe
"And there you are endless highway ahead of you four-lane blacktop sunny skies top down
"And no Florence Arizona where you got all those speeding tickets! Speed all you want now.
"And have you met Jack, Mom? Kerouac?
"Take him for a spin, Mom, if you run into him."
"Jack, this is Mom. You've never really lived til you've gone on the road with her. Hope you guys can find some decent radio out there. She likes music, Jack."
"And, Mom? If you run into GaGa, be nice. Show her what real class is all about, okay?"
The breeze pulsed forward swirled around me (a cloud of dust?). It was my mother out for a spin enjoying the day.
She had to go now, so I waved as I stood there on the terrace, regretting that we hadn't taken that one last road trip we talked about a few years ago. It would have been so perfect.
Text and images (C) 2011 by Metta Anderson - All Rights Reserved