moncrieffs

Some of these people have never seen mud before. The young ones. My memories don’t show me moments. I have no experiences with mud, no playful joy like the children of Serora, who I hope will remember the faces of their friends when they recall the rain and its sloppy yield. But the sensation is familiar. Flecks of dirt clinging to my ankles as I walk through the vegetable garden, once cracked and dry, remind me that there must have been rain in Eithne. The rainfall has been more evidence of what I already have come to know: these Serorans are impressive. They irrigate their crops as best they can, build structures for their vines to cl