Thoughts in Barada

Walking through those straight lines of coconut trees that only a mans hand could create, too crisp for the scattered seeds of natures unpredictable wind, brillinatly tall smooth bark. Magnificient. But, not like the wise pines i know so well, thick barried deep in Vermont woods, these treees are clean, the ground strewn with dry damp palm branches, I step on the stems to soften my step. I can see a time ago where they used these same palms to make bow and arrows, as the tired rembremts of the life above ease each passing step, aiding my feet along the sandy path, they secure another prupose today. Braided together to form the walls in which life is lived, culture is formed, my hnd not capable of creating such strength and beauty. These cocunt trees are life in Barada, there fruit nuirshed the peoule, the hard exterior creates roads, the leaves the bark makes shelter, the excess provides income.