Wheelbarrow

 I let that conversation live alongside me for a day.

I thought about the water situation and felt that it could only be healed through spirituality. This was too big for reason, conversation, pleading. Not here, not in this country I don't think. So, spirituality. Where to start?

I asked. I implored. And I started cleaning up.

It was cloudy out and I didn't want to let the sun's heat dance with this semi dried up mud so close to my house.

I grabbed a wheelbarrow and started shoveling the dark clay. Funny thing is, it was actually kind of pretty. Curling shapes of shiny black lifting easily from the dirt. Had I not known what it was, I could have thought I was carrying magical clay.

But I wasn't. Masked, with my sombrero and rubber boots, I must have looked crazy and I fear that maybe I was.

MUST GET STUFF AWAY FROM HOUSE.

and then

MUST STOP THE FLOW.

The first one was exhausting but easy, the second... I am not so sure.

And because I believe in "Praying While I Move My Feet," I kept that wheelbarrow moving.

And asked to be guided.