We pan for gold in a
river long since tapped out under an oppressive sun above. We hope for a
strike, a mother lode that somehow everyone else has missed. The burrow shuffles
his feet in the dirt. We sleep with the cold winds and ground soaking through
our bones. We have little food and quite frankly, little patience left. The
elders had told us that it would be a waste of time to try, but sometimes when
you are young you just have to find out for yourself.
