The Watcher

Diez y Seis,
A star encrusted night,
Cocooned beneath his poncho,
He breathed in the scents of chillies being cooked in walnut sauce,
Chiles en nogada, his childhood favouite,
The working day was over,
He could forget the endless war against the Chichuahan Desert,
The battle to make things grow and find things to harvest in the arid                                                                                                                land,
Creosote leaves to collect and sell to use as tea,
Prickly pear fruit to ferment and make the delicious navai’t drink,
Despite his aching back, he was content,
A wife, children, good health and the fellowship of his friends,
It was his world,
Small, enclosed and free from the burden of discontent.

Now was his time,
He listened to the sounds of scurrying night creatures,
Caught the musical sounds of endearments whispered with caressing                                                                                                        voices,
Heard the joyful strumming of a guitar,
Dancers calling out to each other with delight,
He strained his eyes and saw the shadow of an armadillo as it passed by,
All was well in his tiny patch of the world,
He drank in and was nourished by all that Life’s fiesta could offer, and felt restored.