A coating of snow, wispy and light, was gathering
on the black statue’s slippery surface,
Pedro Peralta, the founder of Santa Fe, on horseback,
his arm outstretched, is pointing to the future’s site,
his companion standing alongside,
attentive and still, both weathering it all,
by the fenced yard of Santa Fe’s Federal Place.
The solitary walker, too, was weathering it,
out for an early morning’s stroll,
but taking it all in, the contrast of the white flakes,
dropping gently against the adobe-colored walls,
beautiful in itself and bringing calm.
The many adobe buildings, a mix of pueblo and
territorial styles, surrounded him for many blocks,
sometimes bringing the comfort of closeness
but at other times, on the backsides,
a sense of overwhelming size,
the buildings too big and impersonal,
a threat in some way.
And then walking back to the square from the west,
through the narrow streets, and small shops,
the most friendly of all,
nothing opened yet but a welcoming hodge-lodge
of stores selling sophisticated clothing and rare antiques,
next to neglected store fronts, the insides filled
with the debris of busted dreams.
One empty store, half-ready, with windows too dirty
to see in, called itself the “Holy Spirit Cafe”.
Scrawled on one window a gigantic promise,
the “Holy Spirit coming soon”.
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