Valente

He stood like an oak tree by the fire, calm, and affable, and strong.
His quiet solitude was welcoming. He was warmth, and shelter, and home.
He came into our lives unannounced, never called for,
exactly what we needed and had never known.

He walked up to us silently. We trusted him before we knew his name.
Though he hadn’t said a word since we met him, we knew that with him safety came,
He gave us food but more than that he gave us wisdom,
We were different men and different stories, but somehow, we were all the same.

“Es su fuerza, mira como la lleva,” I remember someone in the group once said.
And it was. The man breathed in the mist and breathed out strength and vigor.
The world seemed lost, and dark, and desolate, but us, we were safely led.
“Con Valente, la calma se siente,” we smiled and stated, peaceful, happy, and well fed.

Cenizo

“Dust to dust, ashes to ashes” he said, sagely.
I smiled and answered “There is beauty in the remains we leave behind,
from our food, from our warmth, and from our bodies.”

“Mi tierra es así” he answered. “Both ashes and plants,
that’s why I like to say cenizo instead of ceniza, you know?
It brings together the life that surrounds us and what we leave behind.
There’s a certain poetry to giving a plant a name so close to the word for what is left after it burns.”

Alma Vieja

He was a mountain of a man
or maybe a moor
large and powerful and imposing, but beautiful in his peace.

He irradiated a certain undefinable wisdom that seemed to span centuries,
a profound knowledge we sometimes see in dreams.

So we kept close to him,
we knew he could feed this hunger in our souls.

Of course, like wise men do, he also fed the hunger in our bodies,
and taught us the infinite truths 
that old souls always seem to know.