We sat relaxed as a gathering, engaged in light exchange,
remembering the significance of the night before…
when the white flittering flock of winged warriors slashed the morning rain
with the muffled explosion of their gliding gallop.
Bursting in like trumpets and tambourines born from nowhere,
rustling the tree top canopy with their synchronized swirling swooping dance,
then perching as a squadron, like a hundred shimmering spots of vibrating energy--
speckled reflections of diffused sunlight.
We whooped and whistled from inside the maloca and smiled.
Our selves were absorbed in to the Oneness of the forest universe.
All was well at Soga de Alma.