By Cordelia B. Francis
Verek’s eyes searched the horizon for the slightest sign of rain. Her old dog Balu crouched next to her, calm and alert. The horizon was a flat line. It shimmered in the afternoon heat. It had been this way, unchanged for years. The day Verek’s husband and son died, along with most of the men of the village, was also the day the land and the sky drained of colour.
