.its

it's the woman walking towards me - slipping reflection in the vast grey puddle of mud and dead bloated belly-up frogs-

 its the grey sky puffy and silver and layered behind her - a stark contrast to the bright orange bundle of cookwares piled high on her head - framed by the swaying green mango leaves in the background -

 its the blue wrap with wispy creme spots covering the lump of the baby on the back and knotted at the collarbone - its the man who walks beside her, carrying a torn handwoven purple edged mat and a worn leather valise -

 its the joy when I realize its them, the ones from bed 1 - the ones I pleaded with to go to Bendele, the ones I told all about the malnutrition center - the ones with a baby that is 2 and a half years old and 6 kilos -

its the skin stretched tight and smooth across the cheekbones and lining the deep sockets of the eyes - the one with the face I cannot forget - looking out at at me from under his fabric cocoon, large calm chocolate eyes that I somehow fell in love with -

its the fact that they are actually going - the heartrending fact that they have bundled up everything they came with, most of what they own, and are trekking barefoot 3 miles to the Malnutrition Center,

its about that they actually showed up there, agreed to stay, its about that maybe this one will have a chance, maybe this one won't slip away, maybe this one will be magic -

Its about the fact that they are walking torn and ragged and full of love, towards something that they heard could save their child - towards a giant unknown, toward a grueling month of 3 hour feedings, its about the fac that they went, that probably only 1 in 5 children that I refer actually show up there, and less than that actually stay -

its how i feel a wild excitement, a feeling that this one, this time, this day, is going to make it, about how I met her eyes, this wonderful mother, and how we smiled, and how for just a moment we felt a wild and wonderful skip of hope.