Time will tell

Picture a little girl, with long dark braids, picking fallen frangipani flowers from the under the tree. Breathing in their pungent scent, heady in the heat of the African sunshine, she gathers them into patterns on the dark soil. In that other life, she wonders barefoot after school, seeking out the other children as the begin to appear once homework is abandoned. The pomegranates are red and ripe, they are bittersweet and annoying to eat. With deft, juice stained fingers, the fruit becomes ammunition where there is no war, only grand amusement. Satisfied and lethargic, the entire gang sprawls on the cool grass, spitting pips and tall tales, with no thoughts of the past or the future. ‘Tim...View all