Friday, January 26, 2018
A Mother's Tale
In the evening we sat on the veranda of the inn, the air now cool, and the breeze brought a scent of mud from a canal across the land. Mrs. Rossi reclined in the hammock, her loose shirt untucked, hanging down to her thighs, its whiteness a pale luster in the dark. Chi Lan and I sat in the metal folding chairs, looking toward the road.