We lost a very dear friend today. Fernando Boiadeiro was a rancher and a savvy businessman. Everyday he brought home ice cream to his wife, Tuta. He told long, detailed, sometimes bawdy stories. He gave each of his cows a name. His laugh was a cross between a loud growl and a cough. If he deemed you a friend, he never let you down. In his presence, his friends felt protected. Safe. Loved.

For those of us lucky enough to have been his friends and loved ones, today is a shock. It’s a sad day, and we will miss him.

One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

–Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.