She grabs the plants
like they are holding hands.
The wind blows on her entire body,
pushing her slightly
like a full-body hug.
And she turns around
to look at the mountains
that will always be looking back at her.
And even when she leaves the mountains,
or walks to another city,
or flies to another country,
and inevitably grows into an old woman,
the mountains
will always be there.
She
will always be there.
Patagonia
will always
be.
Ali Walks Around 