Tree House

  

   Lifted. Lifted off from the mundane, off from complaining, sadness, the sense of despair. Lifted closer to heaven. I listen to the wind. I smell Lorca’s azahares and think how he loved Andalusia where Arab, Jew and Christian lived in tolerance in Al -Andalus in the eighth century. I watch the sky. I know the ending of the day. Men are still working. One hammers. Cars race home in the distance on Avenida Mate de Luna which means to be killed, of the moon, two different moments juxtaposed in a name. The beautiful avenue lined with trees leads to the San Javier mountains. I must show by example to the children how everything is possible. I know because I do not give up despite years of obstacles. Lifted into abundance.

Sumay Pacha

   I am a long distance runner, mother of five children, a bilingual poet, living in northwestern Argentina. Sumay Pacha means land of beauty in Runasimi, the language of the Quechua in the province of Jujuy at the northern tip of Argentina bordering Bolivia. I went for nine days in July during the children's winter school break. It is the adobe home my cousin shared with me as a gift of solitude to write.

   I am interested in languages and the visions of the world they embody. I have created this blog to speak with others interested in the forms of language - the language of movement expressed in the purity of running, children's language of seeing the world and experiencing things for the first time, and languages as the Word. I speak English, Spanish, French and Italian. Long ago I studied Ancient Greek in New York City. I read Dante. I study philosophy, pick up our home and greet two cocker spaniels who jump on me every morning with joy.