This was a strange and harsh new land. The sunlight was too strong, burning skin cancer. The Trees were leafless with bleak branches pointed out long and thorny witch fingers. The morning breeze was hot and humid. The fields were parched and dusty. It didn’t rain much in the new land. The weather was inhospitable, as were the people.
There were no jobs on this land. Unemployment was higher than ever. Rejection letters piled up on desks, getting bigger and bigger with hundreds and thousands under cobwebs crisscrossed. Inflation hit rock bottom. Job availability was few and far between. Such was the state of affairs when I landed here nine days now with a child.
One stormy evening, though, dark clouds hung over every tree and every pointy-roofed shack. I had gone on a job search. Tired from all the walking and knocking on people’s doors, I came home. Home was under such a tree—a dark tree with some fallen yellow leaves under it. My baby was covered up in a torn blanket on my lap. But I kept it warm and protected from the elements. In the ferocious winds, I struggled to keep its blanket on top from getting blown away.
We were starving, the twisted roots of this empty tree were our only home, only the stark branches over our heads through which the new moon peeked. The baby woke up and cried from hunger and the cold. The moon moved closer, and it twinkled. We fell off to sleep. When we woke up, we saw the tree was covered in green leaves. The storm had passed, and a sure morning sun streamed right through the branches. I rose, walked again in the new day under tender green leaves, and saw nesting birds flocking.
