Jíbaro’s Communion

Under the gaze of ceiba trees a jíbaro works. The slap as the hoe sinks into the moist earth. The punch as it meets resistance. Subtle signs that he is effective in his work. The ceibas notice and the mountain records his skill. In his thirst he drinks from the river flowing down the mountain, its channel forced around sturdy bedrock. He leans against the exposed bedrock for balance, deliberately touching the aged carvings from an unknown hand. A reminder that in the mountain’s time, 500 years is as recent as his breath just taken. Death is a stutter as one life blends into another, and to the mountain, he is the same man who carved these etchings. The mountain records it all as the story of one. Satisfied, he props up on the carved rock and returns to his audience of ceibas. His work will never leave the mountain.