Finding Peace amid the Storm
It was those hot and humid October on the strip of land that is closest to heaven, and we, three cronies who, without knowing it, had come to Earth to sow tiny seeds of good love.
She was no less a child than us, nor had her innocence faded, like old dresses, but was latent along with her tenderness, in her childish endeavor to protect us.
He clung to his fears as a pretext, that the hurricane gusts could uproot the trees and the clay tiles would fly off like murderers to sever heads.
Absurd fears that served her to bring out her motherly tenderness, which at all costs, saves her offspring.
And when the sky began to darken, as if God wrapped us with an immense blanket, and the cry of all the virgins suddenly fell on the thirsty fields, we would leave, like those who go to a party, where our souls could be closer. And coloring with the lantern light, a yellowish world sheltered from the fury of the storm.
The two by two meters was the enclosure, so low that the only ones who could enter without bending, were my sister and I, with some farm implements that the men kept there, in their effort to ensure that the earth gave us sustenance.
My father had some stools and a small wooden bench, a canvas hammock that hung from some majagua branches, which at the same time served as a framework for the refuge, and to be able to tie the guano leaves of the gray palm trees, as of walls.
And then the party began, when the mother would tell us stories to keep us entertained and happy.
It was the story of the father who had gone with his daughter to a mysterious far away place, where there was a haunted castle, totally uninhabited but surprisingly a mysterious voice was heard offering food and lodging to the newcomers.
And she lengthened and lengthened the story, describing the gardens and the roses, the haunted corridors and the echo of the voice of the ghost, while outside the black hole in the center of the universe, the helplessness of our innocence is worked in one bite.
Little by little the slumber of the tropical night was enveloping us in the lullaby of her loving voice and then, she would lay us down in the hammock with one head to the other's feet, and she found peace, right in the center of the storm, because he knew very well that his priority was to keep safe what he loved the most.
