I woke up at the crack of dawn as usual, hungry, grumpy, morose. The extended winter had not been kind to me and my family. The fields were frozen, and nothing could grow on them. All we could do was pray, and hope, that at least some of us would be able to make it through the day.
Many hadn’t, like my brother, and my daughter. We’d mourned for them, and then moved on. Life was much too short, and much too fickle, to spend on fretting about the past. We had the future of those who’d survived to think of.

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