Santo always took the same path with his five cows from Teneria via the old trail to Malinalco. He climbed up past a small pasture of nopales that resembled lollipops until he encountered the steep incline then turned hard right transversing the belly of the mountain towards a pass between El Balcon de San Elias, part of Nixcongo, and La Campana, the side of the mountain where he presently walked. Ahead, the ocotes and oaks gave way to a corner, a plate that served up the sky like a seamless blue mole, where the path widened revealing a clearing and a reliable patch of fresh grass, even now in October. It was a good place to stop and let the cows feed before resuming his journey.
That day seemed perfect. The sky was blue, undisturbed, and the view towards Tenancingo was spectacular. When the cows saw the grass their slow motion gait turned to a trot as a yearning for greenpasture consumed their conciousness. Santo corraled his cows with his stick as they trotted towards the fresh feed. After all he didn't want them to near the steep incline between the two mountains. Santo sat stared out across the valley towards Cristo Rey and thought of the sermon by Padre Carlos two sundays ago. He peroused over a quote from Saint Francis de Assisi. “Lord, help me to live this day, quietly, easily. To lean upon Thy great strength, trustfully, restfully. To wait for the unfolding of Thy will, patiently, serenely. To meet others, peacefully, joyously. To face tomorrow, confidently, courageously.”
Santo felt content. He smiled at himself and the lush landscape, like a loving pillow after a day of hard work. He sat in silence for some time. His thoughts were interrupted by the familiar tearing and crunching of grass by his cows. They moved in slow motion intent on their feed. He watched them and thought, they are dumb,,, but noble,,, like Abel his cousin with sindromo de downs. They sensed his respect and he knew their minds.
Santo noticed the sky had begun to change, the wind having picked up a little. It was time to move on. Up ahead he still must pass "the funnel", a fold in the mountain beside a deep rift between El Balcon and La Campana, where La Campana descended into the cut between the two mountains. It was in this place, like a graveyard, that many trees had been shattered by wind that often screamed down from La Campana routing itself into natural bottleneck howling as it gained momentum pouring into the chasm between the two mountains wreaking havoc until, like a large breaking wave, ran up against the other side tearing itself asunder.
Santo gathered the reluctant cows wielding his stick and calling, "Heyep, andale, we need to move on, the day is waning". They trodded, as the wind increased. He heard some thunder and his urgency to pass the the funnel drove him with more alacrity. Tranquility was just a few folds of the mountain away. He thought of Padre Carlos and Saint Francis. "You call it a sin that I love the dog above all else. The dog stayed with me in the storm, the man, not even in the wind". The wind suddenly doubled arriving in crushing waves that bent the ocotes in obedience,, yet they seemed to protest their wrenching in screaming creaks. The cows gathered as best they could on the narrow path, transfixed, occiasionally bellowing. Santo spiritedly began to pray. "Oh Señor, te suplico que dejes pasar hoy a este humilde servidor y a su pobre rebaño con tu protección todo poderosa. Prometo volver y rendir homenaje, hacer una ermita para honrar tu voluntad. Padre nuestro que está en los cielos...." The wind gathered itself and then exhaled bravely yet this breath seemed wearied perhaps having been itself tormented by the Santos's supplication. The landscape slowly returned to its former tranquility.
Santo kept his word. He fashioned an idol of The Son out of white cement and cera fina and attached it to a large tree. To this day people sit under this tree, below that now worn image of Christ knowing the legend of Santos, seeking that tranquility that comes after the storm has passed.
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