View of the valley from the house 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A red rose for Claudia

Image
I cut a red rose close to the head and removed its thorns. It was small, but fully opened. Its fragrance filled my air and made me think of Claudia. Carefully, I placed it on an open page from the book I bought her. Baudellaire's collected poems. Not very romantic, but we both shared the same love for dark poetry. The rose found its place, evenly pressed by the weight of the pages around it. I kept the book for several days afterwards, to ensure that the rose took it well. When it works, the rose maintains its color and brightness with a trace of its aroma. Mine looked fine. Claudia was sitting alone, reading, at a small cafe called The Place, not far from where she lived. She was still wearing her school uniform, but she had on a thick, white virgin wool sweater over the top. It was the button down type, with big brown wood-like buttons. She looked terrific. Barely fifteen, and she lit my world. She was taking a sip from her tea as I approached. "Hi," I...
Read more

San Lorenzo

I recall the beaten path of rocky grass, entrenched by moss covered stone walls. It ran alongside the border of my father's farm, and for many miles farther across the foot of the mountain. El Camino Real, it was called. Too narrow and contoured for any wheeled vehicle, it was only to be traveled afoot or on horseback.   Before the advent of carriages -and later motor cars- brought about the need for better roads, El Camino Real was the only way for the local folk to cross the territory without trespassing on somebody else's property. In rural Colombia, during the early twentieth century, the lands were vast and sparsely populated, and the laws were vague and barely enforced. People brandished machetes and shotguns, and defended their turf by whatever means necessary. Many shallow graves were dug near the riverbank; unmarked and unvisited.     Inhabited mostly by mestizos and descendants of the tribal natives who innocently ...
Read more

Pedro, General Manager

We arrived in Miami in the spring of '97. I had secured a job beforehand working as an agent for a cargo airline at MIA. When we went to meet my new boss, my wife found him to be very engaging. Her first aside to me was "I'll bet you he throws some wild Christmas parties!" As it turned out, he was a little too engaging. His name was Pedro. An imposing man at 6'4", 325 pounds. He was well overweight. More than anything though, what stood out about him was his boisterous voice. Pedro usually spoke like he wanted the entire building to hear what he was saying. "What the fuck, Mr Child?" he would say to me. "How does a man of your education and stamina stay so fucking thin?" Most of what he said failed to make sense. He piled on words in no particular order and he tried to get his meaning across by sheer volume. Rarely did he let you speak, unless he thought you were going to agree with him. If not, he would continue with his bar...
Read more