I pressed my face against her neck to avoid the blinding sunlight and felt the sweat that soaked her shirt. Near an abandoned field with grass tall as my head, withering in the dry season, we stopped under a large tree, and she lowered me onto the ground. I felt the heat of the soil through my sandals. "Mother," I almost whispered, "are we there?" She gazed down the winding road, where the wind swept dust and dried leaves, her eyes deep and thoughtful. Then, the silence between us was interminable like the silence when I sometimes stand before her while she is asleep.