Imagine. We are together in the fields, working as we do all day, everyday. Imagine. I am 50 years your elder, you are still believe that dreams Do come true. Even tho the stories you hear wreak of poverty and hard work amounting to nothing but a body old in her youth.
Imagine. We work together side by side. There is something about me that you just cant get enough of. Is it my child like attitude towards life? playful and yet clearly productive? or is it my stories? Told between the hoe and the weed, told over years of our tiny moments, strung together to make a necklace of her story. Herstory.
And even tho the stories are plagued with ancestral misfortune, tragedy after tragedy. A people whose dreams got lost along the way, there is a positive message always. A story to be told that breaks this ancestral chain.
Her dream alive, her body still young. The young woman listens and gathers the hopes all spinning and dancing between the lines. She gathers these hopes and in her mind and begins weaving an intricate story, very different than those around her. Her own story that, with courage and discipline changes the herstory of all those who walk after her.