Sangin'

“There’s one! It has three prongs.”

“Nah, that’s not it. That’s the impostor.”

“Oh, yeah. Your’re right. So smart to surround itself with those who look the same.”

“Besides, there are too many here all together. They are loners.”

“I don’t think there are any in this gully. We’ve been out here for two hours at least.”

“True. I thought because it was north-facing we would find a few.”

“Let’s look over the ridge.”

“Alright, I’ll flank you by twenty feet so we can cover more ground.”

(A few minutes later.)

“Are you coming up?”

“Check this out. It always happens like this. Whenever I give up on finding some, I practically run over one.”

“Oh, that’s it alright. When you see it you know it.”

“No matter how many resemble it, the real McCoy is like no other.”

“Yeah. That green and the shape of them.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m marking where I found it on this map.”

“You know they are very mysterious. They don’t always come up every year. I swear it. Or people dig them up and they’re gone.”

“I’m going to plant the seeds here and use the leaves for a tea so no one will know where this one grows.”

“Good idea. Then lets make circles to see if there are any kin.”

1995

Photo by Mar Startari, 2019

Maria Startari-Stegall