I think about the rain a lot since there is a lacking in downtrodden places. Like the lands desecrated by droughts that outlive seasons, cracking open the dry grounds planted with seeds by weathered hands, that in the end perish when not a single drop of rain falls from the stubborn skies.
A new release is on the horizon. Coming soon on Amazon and Kobo.
An Epic story about a family facing the worst drought of the season and at the same time having to contend with dangerous men who fight to have autonomy over the river waters that will soon run dry. These men will resort to killing anyone who stands in their way.
A story not to be missed. Here’s an excerpt:
My brother and I often sit out on a big blanket drawn on dried grassland to watch the constellation of stars. They shine ever so bright, blinking and twinkling on a night sky dark and devoid of luster. The stars cover their lacklustreness.
On those days, never once had we felt the dampness of the grass seep into the blanket. Not once had we plucked well-formed grass off the dry land. However, we spent hours enjoying the panoramic view above while Mama was busy at the stove back home, cooking up the tapioca or potatoes that grew and thrived on our dry, hardened soils. The food of the earth has sustained us throughout the drought.
I once asked Mama why we couldn’t dig a well so we never run out of water. Wasn’t there water stored deep below the ground?
Mama just shrugged, brushing my thoughtlessness away. “Who is going to do the digging, she asked. Not, you, your brother, nor I. We will never make it to the ends of the earth where it is stored.”
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