THE MOON AND THE VIOLA

The countryside night is a show of its own, and the moon, always majestic, reigns supreme in the sky. 

They say that when it’s full, the landscape transforms, as if the silver light awakens old memories. 

The stories that surround the moon on nights like these are as many as the stars that sparkle around her.

Sitting on the porch with his viola in hand, old Zé, a countryman at heart, looked up at the sky, recalling the tales his father once told him. 

There were legends of werewolves running wild through the fields, with the moonlight illuminating their transformations. 

The children in the village feared those stories, but Zé? Zé always knew the moon was more than that.

“Sure, there may be werewolves, but the moon is much more than that,” he thought as he strummed his viola. 

The moon, after all, was also a partner in great romances. It was under her light that he first saw Maria, the prettiest girl in town. 

Her face seemed to glow that night, almost as if the moon herself had blessed it, and ever since, every time Zé played, he felt as if the moon and his viola shared a secret.

The moon, he thought, holds many mysteries. 

By day, she hides away, almost as if she doesn’t want to see what happens on Earth. But at night, she reappears, shining down to illuminate both fears and dreams. 

Just like the viola, which in the right hands, tells stories of sorrow and joy, the moon, too, knows all the secrets.

It was funny how much the viola and the moon had in common. 

Both were silent but spoke straight to the heart. Zé believed that every time he played, the moon was listening, maybe even shedding a tear, lighting up the countryside with her gentle sadness.

And so, that night, while the scary stories continued to stir the younger ones, Zé, with his viola, sang a love ballad to the moon. 

After all, it was she who always accompanied both the lonely and the lovers. The moon and the viola—two ancient mysteries that, together, turned any night in the countryside into pure poetry.

English

THE DREAM OF A LITTLE RANCH

There are days when the world asks for a pause. In those moments, I imagine a simpler life, far from the rush, in a humble little ranch surrounded by nature. 

A piece of land where the green trees and the murmur of a flowing river bring peace. 

Life there would be made of everyday gestures, like watching the wind play with the leaves or listening to the birds sing in the yard.

At the edge of the forest, the ranch would be modest but full of meaning. 

The tall trees would offer generous shade, where the canaries would build their nests. 

Time would move slowly there, in rhythm with the seasons, as if the clock respected the life that grows from the earth. Inside the ranch, a pinewood guitar would hang on the wall, waiting for the evenings when, after a day’s work, I would sit and strum its strings, letting the melody converse with my soul.

This dream would be incomplete without the presence of a companion. 

I think of Maria, a woman with a serene yet strong gaze, who knows every corner of this countryside as if she were part of it. 

With her, life would take on another meaning. Together, we would share our faith, with a small oratory reminding us to be grateful, even for the simplest things.

Happiness, I know, lives in those details: in the shade of a tree, in the song of a bird, in the gaze of someone by your side. 

And so, in this little ranch lost in the countryside, I would find what I’ve been searching for—a place where life, though simple, would be complete.

English

THE OX CART DRIVER AND THE VIOLA

It was late afternoon on the farm, the sun painting the horizon with shades of orange and red, and the calm of the countryside was broken only by the rhythmic sound of the ox cart wheels creaking slowly along the dirt road. Zé Vicente, a well-known cart driver in the region, was steering his ox cart with the skill of someone who had traveled many paths. His straw hat shaded a face weathered by time, his gaze fixed on the oxen that obeyed without haste.

Upon reaching his simple and cozy mud-brick house, Zé Vicente jumped down from the cart, unhitched the oxen, and let them rest in the pasture. It was the most awaited time of the day: the evening singalong on the porch. Every night, after a day’s work, neighbors gathered there to tell stories and play the viola. That night was no different, and soon the wooden chairs began to fill.

“Hey Zé, how was your day?” asked João, the neighbor who never missed a chance to join the evening chat.

“It was good! Once again, I delivered the load to the city, but on the way, the cart got stuck in a mud hole. And it was with the help of the viola that I solved the problem!” Zé replied with a smile, already hinting at the funny story that was about to be told.

Everyone laughed, curious about how the viola could have helped to get the ox cart unstuck. “Explain that right, Zé!” urged Dona Maria, seated on a stool, eyes full of anticipation.

Zé picked up the viola that was leaning against the door and, with his calloused fingers, played a soft chord as he began to explain:

“Well, it was around noon, and the sun was blazing hot. The cart was buried up to the axle, and the oxen couldn’t get it out of the mud. So, I decided to rest a bit and clear my head. I pulled out the viola from the cart and started playing an old tune, one of those the elders used to sing. The oxen, which had been standing still, began twitching their ears, as if they were listening to the sound. The more I played, the more they stirred.”

The singalong on the porch fell silent as everyone focused on the story.

“Then, believe it or not, the darned oxen started pulling the cart, slowly, without me even giving them the order! I kept playing the viola, and they kept pulling, until the cart came right out of the mud as if nothing had happened!”

Everyone burst out laughing and clapping, while Zé Vicente strummed another chord, this time more joyful and upbeat. In that story, the viola seemed to take on a life of its own, becoming a companion to the cart driver and his oxen.

The night continued with music and stories, reminiscing about the past, when life in the countryside moved at a slower pace and hardships were overcome with simplicity and good humor. And just like the ox cart, the viola carried forward the memories of a time when everything seemed to be resolved with the sound of a good old-fashioned tune.