Praying Over A Meal

Aruvinda turned his back on the first rays of the sun, coveting every moment of sleep he could glean before the day’s labors began.  He was meant to wake at dawn, but the past day’s work overtook him, and the cold dawning breeze whittled away his strength. He pulled the cover of his sleeping bag as far tight over his head as he could, and returned firmly to his dreams. Though he felt aware of footsteps and felt the steaming of the family’s pot nearby, nothing woke him. When he finally opened his eyes, and knew that they would not close again until nightfall, the sun was high over his square tent. He had slept tight in his bag until the afternoon, and soaked himself in sweat.

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