Black Mountain – Mothers of the Sun
Years after the “event” I emerge from my shelter pod. I am pleased to have survived. As I join the queue of people, I am thankful others have too. I remember those who have not. The queue is long and I cannot see the end. Nor do I know what the queue is for. I ask those in the line if they know what this queue is for. They say they do not. A woman gives me some water in exchange for some of my bread. The queue moves. The overriding feeling I have, and the feelings of those in the queue with me, I’d say is hope. In the distance there is a sound. We listen. We nod. Riff.