Lying under a Patagonian sky
The silence is loud
A few gauchos happen by
A crowd
The wind sings
As the world passes by.

Distant fields of snow
Paint patterns on peaks
While clouds lay wispy blankets
On glaciers far below

Mother Nature speaks

A lingua franca
Time and space
The whispering of grass
In an empty place.

Estancia Nibepo Aike, January 2011