The Hour Before Sunset

The gondola swung out over La Paz and, since I am afraid of heights, I caught my breath. A traditionally dressed Bolivian woman with a brightly striped pack tied onto her back sat next to me. The sunset lit up the ridges in gold and filtered down over the terraced rooftops below. Five million dogs running loose around the city chased and barked at each other. A woman in black stepped out of a funeral. High school kids smooched on the opposite side of the building from their teammates. Friends greeted another friend’s baby, kicking and grinning in its front pack. 

The gondola climbed up, plunged down. Climbed up, plunged down. Corrugated tin and ocher paint the same shade as the cliffs give the city a uniform color scheme, accented by carnival banners and florescent laundry drying on the line. A crescent moon hangs over the mountains. I just got here, but it’s almost time to go. My job is done and I’ve got to get home!