by Rachel Rosolina
It was so hot that we were all waving our hands in front of our faces to cool off—a stretch of dry weather. Crop failure was likely to spell stark famine, but millions of plants and animals live in the sea.
Our driver, a creature of rare beauty, had lived on the island all her life and was adept at negotiating the narrow, winding roads along the island’s coast. She was gasping for air, but there was no reason to get into a panic. Always a hard worker, Grandma has remained healthy into her 80s: “I’ll never give up as long as I’m still breathing.” She opened a window to let in some air. After all, she is an herbalist and self-proclaimed witch. She handles her problems with grace and dignity.
A stick was floating on the stagnant water. I glanced at my watch. We were given a relatively short amount of time to finish the job. She broke into tears, crying with relief—storms of emotion. With a sudden shower, seaweed was cast up by the waves and the streams teemed with fish. Grateful thanks.
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