“Oh no, I’m just visiting.” The white haired, broad nosed, dark skinned, sun blackened man finished rolling his cigarette and started smoking it. “Not much on at home for me till at least next year so I thought I’d take advantage of the cheap airfares and come over here to take a look around.”
“And you’re walking the whole way?” The woman with the black hair looked at him as if he were crazy.
“I find you can’t really know a piece of land until you walk over it.” He puffed on his cigarette. Because he was standing downwind of her the smoke didn’t blow over her or what she was doing.
“There’s much in what you say,” she agreed continuing with her scraping. “What do you think so far?”
“The plants and animals are mostly different but things work in together much the same. Your lot don’t adjust to the dry as well as ours from what I’ve seen.” He tapped his cigarette ash off to the side away from her.
She looked at him sharply and her hands were still for a moment. “You’ve seen much of drought, have you?”
“It’s always around me,” he smiled and blew smoke into the wind, “it always has been. Decade at a time sometimes, if that’s the way the dance goes.”
She put her scraper down and stood. The little, natural sounds around them stopped. “Who are you? What are you?”
“I am, as you are. But I am only visiting, I will leave.”
“And the drought will go with you?”
“As the dance allows. The full measure of the dance depends on dancers I have never seen and the closest measure on the Pacific twins.” He chuckled. “They used to just be swirls of water, you know? And now they have names. They’ll have personalities next.”
“That’s a thing humans do,” she nodded. “Look at Coyote.”
“From what I’ve heard, I should look out for Coyote.”
She laughed. “That too.”