Under the Shade of the Almond Tree

The air is fresh and clean up here. 

Can you hear that? The sound of silence. The breeze moving through the trees. No traffic, no big trucks or motorcycles. Peace and stillness.

Sitting outside under the shade of an almond tree.

She has AIDS, we are told. She is frail, we can see.

A man disappears to get us food from the garden. Bananas, sugar cane. A gift for our visit. A gift for the priest.

We sit on chairs. She sits on the floor, in the doorway.

The air is fresh and clean up here. 

The silent mountain where death is coming but has not yet taken the one we came to see.

So we sing and we pray and we talk under the shade of the almond tree, up in the clear, cool mountain air. The place that feels like Heaven, though Heaven is not yet here.

Months later, we hear news of her death.

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