So I dug into back files to find a nearly forgotten travel memoir of that amazing trip around the Horn of South America, some five months on the road. The result, South American Journey, a mix of poems, photographs, travel notes, and memories, perhaps more poignant today since we are less able to travel.
Here's just one poem from South American Journey, hopefully to brighten your day with that sense of faraway, yet very familiar places in Sao Paulo, Brazil.
For Richer . . .
As I walk along Sao Paulo streets,
the people stroll, no rush here,
arm-in-arm they wander as slowly
as if they were in a museum,
talking softly as they go
from one block to the next.
Later, I stroll as they do,
past orchids growing wild in trees,
bougainvillea, impatiens pink and white,
and margaritas, yellow hibiscus, nameless others;
the smallest yards tell me stories
of fallen palm trees,
clipped shrubs, and forget-me-nots.
I climb the yellow brick stairs to the Museo Pinacoteca,
walk past portraits of another era, painters
as unknown as flowers,
grasslands, mountains and the people there,
who sit in transplanted Victorian living rooms,
some singing with joy.