Flying Stones, oil painting
Propelled into sky
tumbling at lightening speed
towards my body
lying in tall green grass
maroon dirt rivulets
my face unrecognizably
fierce, against flying rocks,
stone sculptures
carved of antiquity, undone
I hide in a crevice
of a deep gulley.
For days I lie there
waiting, wanting, wavering
between two worlds
lost and untethered
until I reach out, hands first
then my arms, one by one
the stones fly over me
they never even touch me
they do not break me into pieces
even though they are out of line
and not in their common place
they thunder along without me
I am still here, alone
without brothers, without sisters
no mother, no father
in a foreign land.
high in the andes 
Hello, hello. What a wonderful poetic journey about your life . It reminds me that it is lived in details and not the broad view of where you were and what you did. Your poetry makes me feel present in those magic moments. The people. And how interesting we all are. I feel like I hung out with you for a few days. It’s the little things in life that fascinate. I love them, Your sister who misses you, Lucia
Hello Lucia, What a wonderful surprise to hear you have been reading some of my poems. That means a lot to me. I think you are the first one in our family who has gone to my highintheandes blog. Love you! Magdalena
“Flying stones…in a foreign land” is a metaphor depicting how dangerous it seemed to a lone sojourner, even with a fierce face, to risk being broken away from home. You made it. How do you feel now?
I had to revisit this poem to get what you are referring to. This was 4 years ago now. I guess I am more at peace now with being in a foreign country.