And so this is Christmas

When I took Elaine to the community where I work, we climbed up a dusty road leading to the uppermost shanties. Then we took a left into a nondescript path of desert soil until we reached a no man's land. From here, we looked ahead and saw nothing but sky ahead, rocks behind and long yellow stairs below leading down and littered with dogs to the left and the right. At this uppermost point, this penthouse, we waited to be accompanied by the children who could protect us from the dogs as we climbed down. Challo, Mickey, Carolina were there to protect Elaine and me.

We made out way down these great stairs. They are signs of progress some would say; a reification: the white man is in charge but is kind and in due time will build you stairs to climb up to your shanty and down. Yellow and immediate, they cut the landscape from top to bottom and by way of concrete, bind themselves, and the people around them, into the mountain.

And so, we continued until we approached a step with a dead dog. Small and golden, but an ugly mutt, with the twisted face of Doberman and Collie in the body of a breed small enough to fit dead on a single cement step. Blood had once streamed from the corner of its mouth. We stepped over it but I emphasized: "See! See that there are dead dogs and this is what I have to see when I come to work! See that post with the picture of the dead dog! You see why it's there!" Oh, silly me.

And so this is Christmas, and what have we done? I've climbed up the mountain to wait for protection to climb back down. I hope that along the journey I also offered my own bit of protection to Challo, Mickey, Carolina, etc.