Literature

Sometime before Lope K. Santos passed away on May 1, 1963, he paid a visit to a cemetery with his wife, to the grave...

In the middle of that year when we were picking peas on the hillside, I noticed the school children playing with their teacher in the sun. It was my first time to see her, a young woman of about twenty-five, with brown hair and a white dress spotted with blue. The blue sky seemed to absorb the white color of her dress, but from where I stood she appeared all clothed with light blue. The blueness of the sea at the back of the schoolhouse also enhanced the blue dots of her dress. But my eyes were familiar with the bright colors on the hillside, the yellowing leaves of the peas, the sprouting green blades of the summer grass, the royal white crowns of the eidelweiss, the tall gray mountains in the distance, and the silent blue sea below the clear sky.

“Come in,” he said in response to the five steady raps on his door. There was a soft squeak as the door opened to...

The wind whispered and caressed the land. The night was filled with the symphony of crickets and things. It was music within the dark...