The black man who approached from the rear of the gathering at my father's burial looked to be one hundred years old. He was frail, but not bent. He walked haltingly, supported by two black ... [+]
A mushroom stood short in a forest full of redwood trees that soared high above the forest floor. Two of the white spots on his red cap opened to reveal his dry eyes, ready to cry but no tears could be shed. Another spot below his eyes opened to reveal his mouth so parched that his teeth stuck to his lip. His grayish brown stem was shriveled, making him appear much older than he was. He let out a sigh of exasperation and begged the Good Earth.
"I'm thirsty and this drought has lasted ten days. Just one raindrop will do," he pleaded.
The next day a storm came. He opened his mouth wide and took it all in. At once, he opened his mouth and sighed.
"I'm drowning."
"I'm thirsty and this drought has lasted ten days. Just one raindrop will do," he pleaded.
The next day a storm came. He opened his mouth wide and took it all in. At once, he opened his mouth and sighed.
"I'm drowning."