It's like America, but South

Cather Chronicle VII

The Andes Mountains scream
their beauty as you pass
through, and maybe it's
really only a whisper, but
it picks up both velocity
and decibels as it careens
through the valleys the
rest of my world has
somehow forgotten. But I
don't know how. I doubt
I'll ever be able to.

For five weeks now every
breath has come stilted
and shallow as I feel
its echoes crash tight and
fast upon my lungs. All
things there fall in upon
one another, and it's easy
to start missing yourself
in such glorious chaos.

But I know where I'll
find me, tucked behind
a shaded creek and
softly spreading hills,
where every step ripples
and grows. It's hard to
crash into anything in
so much space.

I've never lived in two
places at one time, and
it's more taxing than I
wagered it would be but
also more complete. My only
joy in this noise, the only
way I know how to
appreciate it, comes from
my distinctly complex
relationship with its
brother in the Plains.
They both can deafen.