“Show Nana the drawing - the photo - is that the word? - show it to her,” Isobeau said, “she needs to know your connection to this woman.” We were walking toward the yurt. The sun was warming the pink tops and blue-purple bottoms of clouds on the horizon.
Red sky at night, sailors delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.
“Good thing there’s no red sky this morning,” I mumbled.
“What?” Isobeau asked.
“Something my mom taught me about reading the sky at dawn and sunset.”
“Oh yeah - red sky at night, sailors delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning - right?”
“Yes, that’s it. Do you think it’s true? I mean, if there was a red sky instead of this pink and purple one, you’d be afraid?” I asked.
“Well, I would likely be cautious. But that saying is for sailors and we are on dry land. Perhaps if we were on a boat or a ship, then I would certainly be on alert for danger,” Isobeau said.
As we walked, I watched the sisters of the village begin their day. Some of the teens carried empty buckets, heading for the spring for fresh water. They were silent, probably still half asleep, knowing most teens don’t really wake up until about noon. What a torture it must be for those young women not to have indoor plumbing.
I took the photo out of my pocket, but the dim light made seeing details impossible.
“Do you think it’s bad that this is my ancestor?” I asked, holding up the photo.
Isobeau didn’t respond immediately. “Perhaps Nana can tell you more,&r...