Monday, July 11, 2011

Sanna (1)


Sanna stilled her feet in the blue water, tiny fish sparkling between her toes and curling shiny circles about her calves. As they swam about, their fins tickling her skin, they sang. They sang, and it was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard, like bells caroling or chimes tinkling. She sang along in her own shaky voice. Each word she mouthed was like the unsteady climb up Mount Lelalanai, hands and feet searching for a rock to hold onto or a shelf of stone to rest upon.

Leaning against the cave wall, Sanna's mother, Aloiaye, smiled and hummed to herself.  Her humming was almost silent, more a quiet purring than a song.  After a moment, she felt the vibration of her husband's own low hum, behind her. She reached back to take Shalom's hand, and they watched their daughter together.  The first of the three suns was sinking below the horizon, and it's pink light stretched soft fingers across Sanna's golden hair.

"Eleven," Aloiaye breathed.

"Eleven,' Shalom repeated.

"Only another year," Sanna's mother began to hum again.

"Praise Ahmah," Sanna's father whispered. "We have another year."

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