El Soul Por La Window
One day looking at the hill outside my bay window sipping coffee, my first cup awed at how the bougainvillea grow when the bush, like a green curtain, opens up . The hill’s earth now exposed, an entryway appears framed by the pretty pink flowers-ballerinas in the air humming birds danced about. My heart hiccuped, eyes filled with tears to look outside my window and see such flair. Then into the center leaps a furry little creature dark hair, blue-eyes, skin tan, slender as a fawn. The branches bow down, birds chirp, leaves flutter around her such reverence. Like bees to honey, I too am drawn. I want to catch her. I want to teach her. I want to touch her. She nibbles on the fruit fallen from its tree sits on her haunches thigh muscles fibrous-rope I kneel closer to the ground so she won’t see me “Please stay, don’t get scared” I secretly hope. Furry little creature, I take a step closer feet delicate under squeaky boar