New grown day

10/19/2000

We walked every day under the clouded sky. Not one drop of rain fell, not one wisp of fog arose to cool our brows. We watered the desert with our sweat. And then, one day, the last straggler looked back. From the choked sound of his voice, we figured he was breathing his last. We could hardly rouse the curiosity to turn back and see who we were losing this time.

One by one our dry throats filled with tears. 

In our footprints a garden had grown. The hazy greens and the startling pinks and reds of jungle flowers halted all forward movement. One by one we staggered back until we were all encompassed by the shady green arms of the new grown day.