I snuggle into my sleeping bag's warmth, listen to the silence. I don't know what time it is, but think about what my sister might be doing. Sleeping, It's a short ritual. This is the trouble with time zones.
l stay as long as possible, and then the need to pee becomes imperative. Slowly, as quietly as I can, I fumble for the fresh blouse that l stashed in my bag to get warm. Why do I bother? It will be lovely beneath my sweater and coat. This chasing of light is not a warm business. Thank God Mrs. Strand taught me to knit. But I wriggle out, sufficiently dressed, without waking the others, and I head to the Senora's main house.
Mission accomplished and a little water splashed on my face. Then I hear the backdoor tap shut. I follow
the noise, catch up of with Senora Fuentes.
"Buenos dias, Senora,"
"Buenos dias, Misha," She is going to gather eggs.
Surrounded by the clucking hens, I remember my father, rigging lights in the fall so the hens would lay all winter. I think he needed the lights much as they did.