Nuestros Pequeños Hermanos

jueves, 30 de agosto de 2012

Sentarse: To Sit (Oneself)

Today I sat. We were in the 'parque central' in Comayagua and there was a beautiful fountain in the center, trimmed on each block by brightly colored cement edifices in a quaint, (Honduran) colonial fashion. The kind of place where little children walk around sticky-fingered with ice cream.

As the breeze flitted across my sunscreen-slicked gringo skin, I couldn't help but smil. My ears were lit with the brusk syncopation of music I am too young to have known at the time of its birth, but nonetheless feel as though i were some long, misplaced, part of myself finally coming home.

Something of the scene spoke such deep peace into me. I couldn't say, in certainty, how long I, or any of my companions on that trip, were sitting there. I know only that I sat and hummed, sung and sipped, talked and wondered until I had taken my fill of the stillness. Such beauty it was, to simply, be. When I was done being, I got up.

 
 

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