Thoughts on Awakening on a Good Friday in April, 2017
It’s a cloudy, foggy day in Manizales. The city in the sky set like a pearl amidst the central range of the Colombian Andes. A seeming oasis of peace in a world so full of wrath.
Everything outside is shrouded in white mists, thunder bellowing intermittently in the distance but the lightning nowhere to be seen, perhaps, still a’bed nursing a hangover from last night’s festivities.
A good day for blankets and heavy sweatshirts, fireplaces and good books. For staying home. The kind of day Alex loved as a child, hoping for a glimpse of a monster or two, or perhaps a ghost, maybe even a drive by a small local cemetery. Billy and Alex and Edward ought to be somewhere nearby, perhaps in another room, they ought to be clamoring in soon, perhaps planning for the next father-son day, but no, that was very, very long ago.
Still, it’s a wonderful kind of day for parents and kids but then, every kind of day fits that description. So long as the kids have parents and the parents have kids, and they’re together, and safe and secure, and living in peace.
I look out the window as the mists start to lift, revealing a sea of verdant mountains waking from their night’s slumber. I sigh and whisper to myself, a frequent refrain: “If only all of you were here or I were there or we were all together, anywhere”.
© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2017; all rights reserved