At the Museum

Beatriz Padilla

The strange, somewhat biconical architecture enveloped by a smooth silver shell reminiscent of a beehive so fascinated Sophia, that finally her mom acquiesced to bring her after school to Mexico City’s Soumaya Museum.

The party of five, including two of her elders and her two siblings, now inside this giant pod, strode slowly up the luminous white spiral walkways, marveling at the broad spectrum of privately owned art of all times, all credos and means of expression: paintings, sculptures, photography, industrial prints, objects of worship and of everyday use, coins, furniture, ancient dresses, ageless hand-written texts, and what surely ranks as one of the world’s largest collections -large in size and number- of ivory sculptures.

High on her toes, eye-level with these off-white treasures, Sophia was dazzled by how artists had masterfully carved, within and without, to the minutest detail, the ancient beauty of China. She was suddenly trapped in the movement of a dripping net where a drama of tens of gaping fish struggling to free themselves led her eyes along the strong hands and arms that hauled the catch, up towards something that did not make any sense:

Mom, why does this fisherman look so sad... as if… not here?

What…? Someone sees me…? A little girl looks at me! Pretty eyes…!

Could it be that she can feel these memories of gently swaying as we roamed through the savannah...? Can she sense the glory of reflecting in sharp flashes the blazing sun of Africa…, the heat penetrating every fiber of my essence…, the wild freedom of knowing thirst and, all in unison, making the majestic drum of the earth rumble as we traveled for days and nights through those vast undulating landscapes to finally immerse ourselves in the swamps, dipping in their lush pastures…, tumbling with the little ones… and coming out covered in exquisite mud...?

Would that she could not see that cold night of slender moon when, though the blues were deeper, the herd did not sleep, uncertain…

The crack of a branch, too close, unleashed the stampede. Flames ran through my cells. We could hear the breathless roar of the unknown beast that pursued us. With unsuspected power we followed our magnificent matriarch. Never before had our swaying been so violent, so demented, so unhinged, nor so suddenly absolutely still... ... ... ... That loud blow from hell, that one, I hope she cannot sense.

SOPHIA? Sophia, come here! Look at these huge ivory palaces, they are magnificent!... Now, child, why on earth are you weeping so?

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The business of bees is a multi-million-dollar industry. Throughout the U.S, bees produce more than $300 million in honey, propolis, beeswax and other products, which we use in cosmetics, medicines and varnishes, but the real big business of bees is pollinating crops which earns keepers billions of dollars. In fact, bees are viewed much the same as livestock

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Writing to Inspire a Love for Nature and a Passion for Its Protection

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Xtinct Poem

Xtinct Magazine

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