Friday, May 16, 2014

Death Ride through the Andes

With rods, on roads, he rode through the dipped down dungy mountains; down, and up, and across, and crossings, and crisscrossing, and re-crossing them: riding in the deep shade of the towering ramparts of the Andes alongside the peaked walls; on the other side a steep canyon below; in front of him seemingly impossible and impassable slops, and sheer drops to the watery abyss below. And above, the broad, blaze of the sun, and humming of the wind, and the switch of wings of the condor. And with every stride of the horse, pulsating death, a-breath away: ever falling and ever apparent to fall; now warm air fanning his face, flowing over his skin, bathing him to sleep as if by some phantom, —and with  a faint, flowing spirit, he closed his eyes, let the horse lead. And the horse fell, stumbled, as if struck by an invisible blow, —all in one age-long second, to death below…

5-15-2014 (No: 4951)