Magda stood in the doorway of her newly rented shack, coffee mug in hand. A light rain filled the air with the fresh smell of damp earth. As she watched, a break in the clouds let the sun peek through, turning the raindrops into little flecks of gold. Magda took a deep breath and enjoyed the absence of "city smells", exhaust, garbage, and competing cuisines.Almost like an apparition, an old man, a Native American, appeared on the dirt road that served as her street. He was thin with long hair, moccasins, and a battered hat. As he walked by, he didn't look in her direction but Magda knew he saw her. She also knew he had taken in a great deal about her. Having spent a summer in this valley on the Reservation years ago, she learned folks of his generation missed very little. . .
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