Catanduanes Forum

I could still remember those moments when my father and I prepared to scale the hilly
mountain top. With the water buffalo in tow, we slowly meandered the rugged terrain,
enjoyed the rustic scenery, and breathed the gentle air. Yes, it was a fleeting moment
indeed as the mist transformed into a morning dew, a ritual of sorts that Mother Nature
perfected in harmony with the sudden burst of sunshine and gentle rain.

Morning Dew

The mist drops unto the lily pad,
Where minnows and tadpoles play beneath,
The water hyacinth is now but glad.
Gliding to the pool, it proudly struts.

And claps of thunder are suddenly afoot.
To welcome the rain that is late in coming,
From where did you meander about?
Now, all are aghast in sad refrain.

In my coming, I quench thy thirst.
Not for a day but for all time,
Doesn't Mother Nature always insist?
Her domain must be afresh, if not divine.

Tell me then where the cascades flow.
Where I can blend with the mist and glow,
And yonder across where bamboos grow,
They reach for the clouds in awe.

The lowly hand that breaks the earth,
Complains not of his aching back,
Wipes off his brow the trickling sweat,
And seeks the shade for an evening rest.

He desires not of an angry flood.
That wrecks havoc along its path,
The gentle rain and mist to soak the crust,
All these he needs to soften the earth.

Ma Alvarez
This Side of the Hemisphere
December 18, 2009