as requested another piece of ‘Rose of Damascus’. One of the 2 spoken word sections we came up with this week.Still whittling and polishing 
"The windscreen wipers battle futilely against the swirling dust storms, their soothing rhythm and the movement of the bus providing some temporary reassurance, lulling her into an uneasy sleep.
Cautiously threading their way along ancient smugglers routes down through the valleys, under a ceiling of stark starlight, her only baggage the fragments of the horrors she couldn’t leave behind.
The passage was paid for in greedy exchanges with callous strangers full of promises and peddling hope, whose cold lecherous eyes followed her as she took the transport up the coast to a deserted inlet, out of sight of prying eyes and guardian angels
She felt the sands shift under her feet the waves racing up onto the moonlit beach, dancing around her ankles ,the ebb pulling her further into the swelling tide allowing the powerful but gentle lift of the chilling waters to carry her to waiting hands to be pulled up onto the fearful overcrowded boat.
She stares out into the night towards the dark sea that disappears into the horizon. Her past slips into the distance behind her as she nurses the slender waxed cotton bundle that holds her treasured stems, her roots, her legacy, her destiny ".
copyright DW Dick 2019