Pound, pound, pound, pound, pound…the rhythm continues throughout the day. At times I notice it, but often I don’t. Pound, pound, pound, pound, pound. Even when I hear it, do I really know what it means? The sweat and effort that goes into every pound. The backbreaking pain of every pound. The never-ending rhythm, hour after hour, day after day--the never-ending pile of stone she is pounding into tiny fragments of gravel. Even when I hear it, do I really know what it means? No. It is but another sound of life. Another desperate attempt to make a little money. At least enough to feed mouths. Pound, pound, pound, pound, pound.
Beautiful are your words as they transport us to your world. Thank you, Crissa girl!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Crissa, for reminding me how blessed I am, and how much I have to learn from others. Look at her - she's smiling. I hope I could do the same under the circumstances. Beautiful pictures.
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