I can almost taste the silence, as I walk down the path from my parents' home to the beginning of the village where the mango groves begin. I reach out to touch the hanging mangoes in their fullness, each reflecting a gentle glow of the moon. I'm a young mother, pregnant again, this time blessed with a girl child. As the days pass, I sense the link of an emotional chord with the womb of generations past and future flowing through me . . .
stepping into the river
with bare feet