Rio De Janeiro

Glorious Rio - unashamedly you bare your body and your soul to anyone, to everyone who comes upon your glistening ocean shore. You lie blissfully flaunting yourself, oblivious to a code that tells of when to arise or go to bed of when to take breakfast or lunch or of where to sup of how to dress for the beach or for the street. You offer up yourself for my pleasure and readily I take! I take the sand to romp upon, to lie upon and brown my skin. I take the waves through which to leap in exuberant jubilation. I take your streets, through which countless cars and bodies stream and your cobbled walks with their door-less shops and their strange and tantalizing odors of breads and fruits and sweets. . . I taste your delicacies. I choose from wares of vendors on Copacabana’s Promenade and marvel at delicate tropical birds carved from amethyst, rose quartz, and from gold. I take your abundant sights of natural splendor - your Sugar Loaf Mountain where tiny monkeys wander within my reach, your green foliage, your many sunsets breaking over the Atlantic. I take the hospitality of your people of many hues - from white to tan to black, and I bask in the festive atmosphere with which you are imbued. Alas, when I leave you, Rio, I look back to the mountain where your Christ o u t s p r e a d s his arms the symbol of your acceptance of us all.