Evening Song

Abigail Hindson - Ecuador


March 27, 2012

Shadowed mountains

trace uneven lines;

the golden sky

splits & tears–

jagged halves,

dark & light.

 

All around,

the lazy city

moves in twilight:

deliberate & unchanging,

an afternoon ritual.

 

The vegetable man

stands expectantly

awaiting passerby.

His gold tooth flashes,

cinnamon eyes crinkle

a fleeting smile.

 

He swims through

his tomatoes,

creamy avocados,

sweet bananas.

Weathered hands

deftly extract the best find.

 

Hand-to-hand passes

an avocado,

perfectly bruised

delicate, soft

in the afternoon warmth.

 

Overladen clouds

relieve

brilliant Amazon heat

the first tentative drops

threaten

humid heaviness

covering everything.

 

Footsteps patter, mirroring raindrops

pounding glistening pavement;

a girl in blue

twirls round and round

in the torrent,

a splash of color

amongst

silvery, cascading sheets.

 

She smiles,

looks up—

the drops slow,

sprinkling.

The vegetable man

peeks out

a crinkled grin,

hand raised:

a saludo.

 

The girl in blue

scampers by,

avocado in hand

dark braid swinging.

 

The perfumed breeze

bright flowers & woodsmoke

wafts by, melodious.

A chorus—

insects hum in reply,

serenading

evening stillness.

Calm resonates;

a fragile world

harmonious.

Abigail Hindson