Comment: The wind that whistles through Island View today carries snowflakes and ice pellets that pitter-patter across the window. The wind brought in clouds, grey wisps of drapery that curtained the sky. When the wind falls silent, the trees continue to wave and thereby fan the air into action and the wind starts up again. Yellow sunshine, warmth, the sun in Mexico, in Oaxaca, in Monte Alban where the danzantes dance in stone and my friends and I wander at will among sunshine and shadow. On grey days like these when I crave the sun, I conjure images of Oaxaca, its warmth and its mysteries of mescal, that early-morning spinner of inner myths, word music, and magic metaphors.
2 thoughts on “Southern Platform”
Thanks for writing thhis
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A Golden Oldie! I was in Oaxaca, teaching, for 3-8 weeks, every year from 1995-2001. I have a trilogy of books written on Oaxaca, plus loose poems like these. You can find Sun and Moon on Amazon (under my name). Thank you for commenting and for visiting. Keep in touch, if you wish. Best, Roger.