The rustic

The rustic was a humble man.

Every month he sat in the town square for a while.

Only once in the month he went to the city and that city every time he sat.

He wore a plaid suit, a pair of social rather surrada.Nos feet wearing slippers fingers even

never footwear shoes.

His feet, tired skin was thick and the time the land.

It is why the peasant was very fond of his bare feet on the ground.

Every month he quit, he took the bus down in the same point, this was a ritual for years.

He went to town to collect the pension, it was business "bão.

Winning without trabalhar.Não that the guitar did not like trabalho.Aliás never missed not work.

His hands calloused by the hoe, rake and the hoe ... From the rustic work not afraid not.

Sitting there in that square, seemed master of prose with an old acquaintance left aside a bit of solitude.

It was some years his only company was the radio, nothing like the image televisão.Não beast of television.

The rustic liked best was the bird.

In the backyard playing in the fields cracked corn for the chickens and then came the papaya passarinhos.No insisted:

always left a mamão.Ele said: "- It is the tenth to God!"

But God does not come mamão.Era share for the passarinhos.È God who feeds them said in his heart.

"Oh, heart bão "!!!"

Has colored tanager, and up-vis and legitimate sabiás.Tem pigeons, doves, lapwing, joão-de-barro, parakeet,

maritaca papagaio.Tem and heron, buzzard, guira who say it gives too azar.Tem canary, hides little head pra

is dormir.Mas canary bird cage and did not like hillbilly no cage, gave pity the pet stuck in that prison.

Liked even bird loose out there, flying free through the fields, bathing in the rivers of water, breathing clean air

vales.Ah the hills and the rustic would also like to watch the sunset sol.De late afternoon sat in his old ranch

stick-and-pike in his rocking chair and watched the sun hiding behind the horizon leaving behind the mountain.

That day will not come back, gave miss ...

Regards from childhood, the mother, father, grandfather ... You could miss his wife's death has led ...

You could miss the children who almost never came to visit lo.Dava miss the youth, the friends who have passed away, the rivers

clean and abundance of peixes.O wind carried on the breeze of the night the comfort and rustic finally would then sleep.

Awoke early caipira.Regava plants, roses, horta.Tratava of "creation": the pig for Christmas, the "chicken"

was the party, the dogs that remained thank the "mush" of rustic fubá.O had passion, the cat estimação.Era the dogfish,

black and white cat, the cat Corinthian.

Every morning the peasant was a known oração.Havia salvation in Jesus Cristo.O received as one and only

salvador.Deixou the god of clay, false god who could do nothing for ele.Entendeu that God is Alive, Great, infinite, powerful

and faithful, and He cares for us and will one day lead us to live in heaven.

But there was something in the house of God that the guitar does not understand: that business to be screaming too loud was a little weird

God is not deaf não.Bom the rustic not criticized not only not entendeu.E when you will worship God near his home,

the rustic sleep later and goes on oração.Fala of God's love wherever she goes, and wishes to announce the salvação.Tem pleasure

to bless people, no vices, the rum, "the cigarette of Paia, became better cidadão.Por which is now

instead of scolding children for word, it leaves a bullet in his hand.

Bullet in the hand of a child is joy for sure.

Passing by a deserted road in the night on their way to church I had a vision: It was the rustic down hill

down with his staff in mão.Chapéu straw, kind smile, that beautiful face wrinkled visão.Seu time and its beautiful white hair.

When it rains dew, rain, vento.Quando hits the raindrops on the earth, and feel the smell of wet earth in the air.

At the time of the sleeves, water sources I can remember.

Remember the rustic, simple figure that I learned to love.