the · good · red · road

In this little trailer, there was a room filled wall to wall with woven fabrics and scarves and blankets and beads and bracelets and bags. She said "It is my work."

We sat and talked for a while. She put one of her hair-ties in my hair, and played with it, and asked me about my family and told me about hers.

Her children Diana and Christopher Tomas were in the other room, sheepishly peering in on their mother and me every once in a while, and listening to strange pop music I have never heard before on the radio. It felt like a dream.

I gave her the ten dollars I had in my pocket in exchange for a few bracelets and a beautiful green parrot beaded keychain.

And then I left.