The Muse of Mexico

She has bells of shells on her feet that herald her presence, but they lay silent as she sits still. With silver bangle serpents that snake up her brown, sunkissed skin, she sits chanting over an offering of palabras as the smoke of incense burns around her. A feathered headdress of plumes sits on her long black hair, as she stares out of jet black eyes and past her aquiline nose.

As the Aztec sun burns above, the Muse looks down from above a stone pyramid across the vast span of history that fills this land. She blows on a conch shell horn to summon all that has been lost. Skeletons of the Dia de Los Muertos dance around her temple as butterfly catchers paddle around the moat that sits below her stone ziggernaut.

She scoffed at the human sacrifices that were offered her way, and preferred to accept the gift of ideas. She gave that gift back to the tribes who kept their history and heritage close. She colored the dreams of the shaman as they deciphered the visions that filled their heads. She filled the scream of the priest Hidalgo who declared Mexico's freedom. She painted with Diego as he illuminated the history of this land on the canvas of walls; our dear Muse gave poor Frida the crush of ideas that plagued her soul and covered her canvas. She remembers the time that was and sees the time to come in this mysterious, enigmatic land.