The old man took a step out from his shelter onto the earthen land, planting his feet firmly into the ground. A new dawn was rising, would this be the day? The sun, although not at its peak, was not treating him kindly, reflecting rays off his bald spots and scorching his golden skin into brownish leather. The ground and sky met in a magnificent monochromatic fashion, and it was there that the elder spotted a shadow off in the distance that was growing larger with each passing second. "Grandpa! Grandpa!" the little boy yelped as his feet trampled on the rocks in the soil. His face, although plastered with a smile, was ultimately a blank canvas, showcasing every emotion that processed in his mind. Sandro stared at the capricious child with a sense of envy and nostalgia. Why does life have to become so complicated? Why does the process of gaining knowledge of the world come at a price- the consequence of knowing its misfortunes and the follies of man? The old man often marveled at such questions but never carne to any enlightenment. He realized it was better to focus on the matters at hand than to bother with such trivial matters.

The little boy finally reached the old man, but by then his breath was scarce and coming in convulsive spasms. "Grandpa .... grandpa ... I..have ... some ... thing ...to tell .. you ....but..now I just. .. forgot." Sandro laughed at the child with amusement much to Marco's irritation. Quick to change the subject, the child quipped "What's going on in Rio de Janeiro today? Any news with the folks down at the court?" Sandro let out a deep sigh and thought.

It seemed like only yesterday that a young man ran into his village, yelling and alerting everyone that Dom Joao had left for Portugal. Dom Joao VI was the king of Portugal, who fled Lisbon after the French, under Napoleon's rule, invaded his country. When the tyranny of Napoleon had been dismantled, the Portuguese government wanted their rightful ruler to return to his motherland, but by then Brazil had already developed and was economically prospering. And so it was deemed that Pedro, the son on Dom Joao, would control Brazil as prince regent.

Soon after the exchanging of power took place, a messenger was sent for Sandro. His reputation as a wise and intelligent man had evidently reached miles across the plantations to the court in Rio de Janeiro. He was summoned by Prince Pedro himself to become a part of the Brazilian parliament. Such a noble and dignified role was not about to be passed up by a modest commoner, and Sandro accepted the position with pride. Little did he know what challenges and pressures would face him in the upcoming times of turmoil ...

So absorbed in thought Sandro barely noticed Marco patiently waiting by his side. Marco tugged on Sandro's sepia-colored cloth that was draped over his body not unlike the style worn by the ancient Roman philosophers. The old man's eyes narrowed and his wandering mind returned to him. "Oh nothing ... everything" he inserted at the last second. He pondered whether to reveal Pedro's latest scheme to Marco. Such knowledge can be too much a burden on one's body, especially if the body is that of a child. He gazed into Marco's eyes, and he saw himself in the pupils of the child. Was this his imagination, an illusion, a trick of the mind? Sandro could see the boy was yearning for information. The elder knew too welt that the child would eat his words and then digest them slowly, taking into account every remark and saying. In that way he deduced the two of them were more alike than he originally thought. "Yesterday the parliament met with Prince Pedro to discuss affairs with the Portuguese government." Marco leaned in closer so that he would not miss a single syllable uttered. "Apparently, our Portuguese brothers want to strip Brazil of her cultivated status and return her to a state of colonial conditions." Marco gasped and shrieked. His nose shriveled up and his ears rose slightly as a scornful frown entered his face. "That sounds awful!!! They can't do that to us! What did you tell Prince Pedro?" The elderly man kept his posture barely moving an inch of his body. It was as if recounting the events drained all the physical strength from his limbs. Instead he just gazed straight ahead into the horizon, his eyes grasping for something to appear and direct his attention away from the infinite skyline. "Well my child, I told him what I thought of the event. I advised him that Brazil has proven itself to be a capable and prosperous settlement without the direct help from the crown in Portugal. Who's to say it can't continue to t10urish in a self-regulating manner? I've heard stories, tales that our neighbors to the north have separated ties with their homelands. Pedro has the support of Brazil and he knows it. It is up to him. It is his decision now." Marco listened attentively. Now he too stood staring at the horizon. The words lingered in the air and echoed in their ears.

Sandro couldn't help but wonder if his grandson would end up in his position, weighing issues and advising others about the general welfare of the country. The two males stood side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder. History would always tie the generations together like the string in the sewing process, weaving bits and pieces of a person's past with another's, until it forms a big web of colorful, glorious experiences. Sandro knew that his knowledge would be passed down to Marco, and then hopefully to his son or grandson.

            As the two glared off into the distance, a lively man not much older than Marco appeared, a hazy apparition in the shimmering sunlight. The man was exhausted.

Sweat cascaded down the brim of his nose like a waterfall, but the determination in his eyes shone strongly. "I have come bearing important news from the ruler himself. Prince Pedro has told me to inform you that he has finally demanded independence from Portugal. Brazil is a free kingdom!" The messenger collapsed on the ground, his deed was done. A smile lifted on the old man's sunken face. Marco watched his grandpa and laughed in turn. Sandro watched the sun rise, contemplating on all the events that preceded this magnificent moment. And although he was not a firsthand witness to the happening, he still took pleasure from knowing that he helped push the nation towards its birth. The sun had finally reached its pinnacle, and rested on top of the sky. The rays shone down gracefully on Sandro. A new day, the one he had been waiting for, had finally arrived.

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