In that instant, I realized that the Creator is a poet first before anything else. All around me was poetry. The trees, the hills, and the river stood silent and voiceless, yet they spoke volumes about love, grace, wonder, and splendor. For a moment, I forgot about the fear of pain as I stood there absorbed in my surroundings and thoughts. My father’s gentle push reminded me of why we were there. I took off my clothes and followed my friends into the water. We bathed until we started to shiver and had goosebumps on our arms. Then we headed back to the house of Mang Tomas, with towels wrapped around our bodies.
“Let us go around the back,” he said as we reached his hut. We followed him, and as we turned the corner of his house, we walked into his garden. The deep green forest of narra, man
