Path

Abstract

I didn’t say a word. Old women, children. Each group of them understood my arm, when, how it chose and gathered them, where it commanded them to go next. Free arm or sometimes gun-slung arm, they understood and moved. Each little crowd of them, clinging one to the other, prodded from the muttering, head-bowed, stir and muck of the rest, eyes clinging to my arm motions, my eye flashes, my head nods pointing where I had led the group before this one and the group before them.