As the woman absentmindedly hacks away at golden rice stalks, glassy beads of sweat drip down her brow. She stands up abruptly, grimacing as the muscles in her leg begin to cramp. The baby strapped to her back is startled by his mother's sudden change of position. He moans softly as he arises from his slumber. The woman coos to her young child, urging him to return to blissful unawareness.
The woman looks out into the valley below. The quilt of the countryside is an uneven patchwork of yellow and green. Across the valley, a thick morning fog spills over the peaks of the mountains and washes over the land. The fog attempts to preserve the stillness of the morning, but racket from a village shatters the fragile peace. Dogs bark and children yelp; a new day has begun.
The woman can taste the salt of her sweat, and yearns for water. Nearby, an apathetic water buffalo noisily chomps on weeds. He shakes his head back and forth, warding off buzzing flies, and the bell around his thick neck gently rings. The water buffalo's young calf peers out from behind his mother's legs, flicking his tail nonchalantly.
Hearing movement above her, the woman turns around to see a young man and woman hurrying down the muddy hillside. Lugging massive bags of dried rice on their backs, they struggle to maintain their balance. As they pass, the woman greets them: Hello little brother, hello little sister. The man does not take his eyes of his feet as he responds: Rain. He and the young woman rush by.
The clouds are churning in the sky above, threatening to drench the countryside. Frightened by the tension in the air, the baby whimpers. The young calf empathizes, bellowing deeply. A single drop of water hits the woman's arm, warning her to flee. The woman rushes down the hillside, trailing behind the young man and woman. Soon enough, the sky tears open.
The morning commotion which the fog failed to mute are beaten down by the relentless rain. Nothing escapes the fury of the rain.
Sarah Weiner
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