The Mayans :: essays research papers fc

I heard the familiar sound of the back door closing gently. My father was returning from weeding the vast amounts fields, with is old sickle, and planting to a greater extent corn crops in mavin of our fields. He usually starts his day at 500 a.m. every morning, he wakes up to the superb aroma of a amiable honey that fills the whole room and which drags him into the kitchen, the smell of hot tortillas. Good Morning father greeted by his beautiful married woman and children. They are wearing loose dresses that reached their ankles his wifes clothing was embroiled with elegant ornaments, and both females wore stunning necklaces made from the finest green jades in Guatemala. It has been almost 30 minutes since the Komatuk family have been enjoying their tortillas and balche (alcoholic drink). Ok sound ones its time to get ready the lady of the house would exclaim. It was time for the family to pay a visit Jolomku. Jolomku, according to the stories of the grandparents, was the name o f a village situated on a tall ridge among a multitude of hills and mountains. It was a colorful village, woven with the work of men and women, with their lives, illusions and failures. Cold air rode freely among the savage hills, climax face to face with the people of Jolomku. The Komatuk family walked down the dusty brown road with his family as the hot bright sun shined on to them. As the enormous synagogue on top of the great sandy benefit, they would then climb up the great sandy pyramid to get the sacred temple. When they reach the top of the pyramid they meet hundreds of other Mayans who are waiting in line to get their blessing from the high priest. After waiting in line as the heat up and sizzling sun shined on them. As Mekel and his family enters the sanctified holy temple he prays with the hundreds of Mayans as they worship their god as animals and prisoners of wars were being sacrificed to tribute and applaud their great god. The crowd at the base of the enormous blo od red pyramid has been standing for hours in the dripping heat of the Guatemalan jungle. No one moves every eye stays fixed on the buildings summit, where the king, his head adorned with feathers, his scepter a two-headed crocodile, is about to emerge from a sacred chamber with operating instructions from his long-dead ancestors.