Impressionism

Simple kindness. 

He remembered when he was a boy. 

He sat on a wooden stool in front of a broken window, looking out at the rain falling in great sheets from a black sky. 

His mamí stood behind him with her arms around his chest. 

"I love you," she said. 

Then she returned to her work cleaning their house and cooking their supper. 

In that moment he knew he was loved.

Did his mamí know that her simple kindness helped him love the world?

     

Simple kindness. 

He remembered when he was a teenager. 

He walked beside his papí in the late afternoon sun down long row of tomatoes. 

"Take my hand and come with me," said his papí.

He took him to a tree and sat with him under the shade of the giant branches. 

He took out a notebook, a notebook filled with words, beautiful words, powerful words, about people and about life, words he had written but had never spoken, for he was a quiet man who spoke little and worked 'lots. 

"These words are for you, my son," he said. 

Then he returned to his work weeding the plants and nurturing the tomatoes. 

In that moment, he knew his own thoughts and words were important. 

Did his papí know his simple kindness helped him write the revolution?

     

Simple kindness. 

He remembered when he was a young man. 

He was sitting at the foot of his bed. 

Gabby stood before him.

She lowered her dress to the ground. 

He saw her in her nakedness for the first time. 

He looked at her sonrisa, her smile, and it was as if the sun had risen upon him. 

He looked at her brown skin, and it was as if the rich soil of the countryside had opened it self to him. 

He looked at her body and couldn’t breathe for a moment, for it was as if all of the beauty of the world had fallen upon him. 

"Hold me close," he said and she held him and she held him for a long time.

They didn’t speak, but only held each other in tender solicitude. 

She was simple kindness.