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Payacita

What can be seen from a brook to the trees

I stand where the brook can see me

Autumn breathes among the rustling leaves

Tradewinds speak to me

The “valley of Payacita” is the late full moon’s last quest

I will settle there and wait through winter’s zest

In the spring she will come and we’ll do our best

For in the spirit of living life there is no contest

Only what’s kept sacred in the heart

So that your eyes may see

I live in you

You live in me

The blue butterfly

Autumn, late 1888

Payacita

Jeanne Marie Martinez Follett

2004