There is no relief from this
heat. It wrangles down on my shoulders like a piggy-back toddler with a sweaty
bottom. Even in the shade it presses down with a hidden sweaty hand. The
darkness only brings thick, syrupy air that floats the fangs of mosquitos.
There is no relief.
Life without walls reminds
me that my biology is raw. My heart beats and my pores sweat while rodents
scamper in the residual light from electronic devices. Their clawed feet are
better accustomed than my own in this place.
The wind teases with a small
breeze that reminded me of a cool day, only to disappear and again I am stifled
under the humid press. Dinner was lukewarm beans in a thin black broth with
scrambled eggs swelling on the side and bits of hotdog floating on the surface.
I observe my heat-induced
responses with an eerie third person perspective as I gain awareness of an old
man with a crotchety response, only to realize that he is me.
A single rain-drop slaps on
the aluminum sheeting above my head and shatters the desert.
It’s falling now, the
solitary announcement yielded to a soft song and now a riotous roar. Winds are
now in full pursuit as they carry a longed for restoration. I regain
perspective and turn a thankful heart heavenward.
The lights are out and the
sounds of the night are more vivid than my memory of the light as my cot rests
on the edge of the concrete. Nine students sleep on the slab behind me, a
community of cots and hammocks. This is night one on the road for Emmaus 2016.
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