Just outside Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. Hearing the wind and horses neighing, and shovelling for the new row of gers as the workers mix concrete. The kids must be gone because I can't hear them laughing & yelling as they play - at least not over the wind. 1pm: time for lunch. The sun has moved from the wall over Vijay's bed to the west corner of the table, where the tea sits.
If you were to volunteer for a Peace Corps assignment in Mongolia, you would start in the summer. The steppes would be grassy and green. In the hope that that memory would sustain you as the temperatures slip and the colors fade. As you add the winter door to your ger. Spring becomes a miracle and you hang on each protracted step, as the light May snows wash a hint of color across the plains.
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