A frustrated boy stood by the window vainly gazing out into the void; I was roused by horrendous screeches of torrents pouring down from the clouds, wondering what to do next. My grandmother walked into the shed, a chunk of succulent flesh in one hand and a pack of watery cabbages in the other, stepping into the kitchen to fix up breakfast for my grandfather and me. With the body of the weaker vessel and the head finely covered with silver hair, she was my deity incarnate, softly tending me in my solitude and illness all the way through my childhood. I hope all this could have taken place this dawn, were she alive. --

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