They step off their ships onto the sandy shore, swords glinting in the hot Yucatán sunshine. Unit after unit of men squint down the beach to the hundreds of coconut trees swaying in the tropical breeze, like so many maidens sashaying down the main avenue of Medellín. Peering into the dense jungle, Hernán Cortés and his…
Towards the end of her fascinating autobiography An Ordinary Woman´s Extraordinary Faith, Patricia St. John mentions, “one cannot easily write about the present. Those involved are very much alive and close at hand….” In addition to sensitivity to privacy and the dignity of mankind, the present can seem cloudy. There are untied strings, buds are still…
Sometimes one would love to speak. To pour out from the deepest depths of the heart grief inducing observances, to shake the world’s numb conscience, to pour fire into veins of lethargy. But sometimes, the words just won’t come. The subject seems too harsh, too awful to actually put into words. Henry David Thoreau commented,…
The First Years I lay very much alone, staring up into the darkness about me. It was overwhelming, the lonesome black coldly ignoring my hot, bubbling emotions, a wallowing of self-pity. No one could understand. No one knew my contradictory pain. Except for one. I looked up, the tears streaming down my young cheeks and realized…
We pull up just as the sun begins her habitual descent into the aquatic horizon, igniting highways from west to east of rippling, glowing fire. The gulf laps quietly against the bows of some fourteen fishing boats, resting sleepily after another long day of relentless toil. Gulls soar overhead, searching for one last treat before…
I will be honest and admit that I have no idea which book I was reading three years ago when I took a picture of the page to send to some dear friends. The quote, however, has never left my conscience and so I share it with you today (despite perhaps not agreeing 100% with…
Preface There are people the world over who live utterly unimaginable lives. The anecdote I choose to tell occurred less than a week ago, but it is not the first time it has happened, nor will it be the last. It is also a story that is in no way restricted to a small village…
We sat on our camp chairs and looked around at the beginnings of our new life. It was just a single story ranch, surrounded by flowering pink maculí trees, mangos and towering melina, sandy soil and beautiful silence. A small enclosure held a few hens. Several sheep grazed in the grass behind us. The day was…
It was my intention to write once a week on Wednesdays to keep myself accountable. I suppose that works for the uneventful, mundane weeks but I am learning that I also shouldn´t limit my writing schedule. Sometimes interesting things do actually happen! A few weeks ago, a couple teachers from a nearby university stopped by…
Ridge after ridge spill out across my sight, eventually drowning out into hazy lavender oblivion. The closest peaks, coated in the fluffy green frosting of a tropical forest, occasionally melt their facade to reveal inhospitable rock faces shooting angry daggers at their curious onlookers. High summits stabbing the thin mountain air modestly hide their beauty…
penelope alves 