Saving Fish from Drowning - Heal Burma

AMY TAN
to besiege and scour the linings of their bowels. This was the sou­
venir of the now forgotten meal served at a restaurant on the way to
Stone Bell Temple.
Our travelers went ever deeper into Burma. The fields now resem­
bled crazy quilts, with irregularly shaped plots and borders that
never managed to run a straight line. The fields had been passed
down in families, and their original boundaries had been marked by
the natural growth of bushes. In those colorful fields stood haystacks
shaped like stupas. Along streambeds, graceful ladies leaned over
huge buckets and splashed themselves as part of their twice-a-day
bathing ritual. Tiny children perched on water buffaloes, having al­
ready mastered perfect balance on a furry hump.
Dusk was approaching, as marked by the smell of smoke. Fires for
the evening meal were being lit. A haze rose from each household
and hovered over the land like a blanket of benediction. My friends
turned and saw that the banks of the hills were the color of chilies,
sharp tastes that brought tears to the eyes. Soon this deepened to
blood red, and then the sun dipped past the end of the fields, the land
and sky turned black, save for a slice of moon, a colander of stars,
and the golden smoke of cooking fires.
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