An old, holy rite
Which may be a sacred mask
For coy surveillance
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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Smartystan
Rain didn’t stop Mala. Swaddling for Edgar covered the baby boy’s body and she held her other son’s, Burton, six-year-old hand. The mud, muck, and mire didn’t hinder her from staying on course with her mission. From Pennsylvania, they all trekked to get closer and closer to land that was never promised but simply implied. Each step produced more mud caked around her sneakers. She didn’t care. Her rucksack provided them protein packs to put into plastic bottles and nuts and berries and dried meats to keep their muscles in good health. Water hydrated. She rested. The baby had been asleep the entire time that she had started her journey and her eldest son remained silent throughout the excursion as well.
By Skyler Saundersa day ago in Chapters
Comments (8)
Happy to read.
So true!!
Very nice!
Interesting...
Oooo...
Lol, this made me chuckle!
🤣🤣 slap the truth on us 👏👏 (I’m not Catholic - I used to ask those friends why they needed a go-between).
I love it!🫶