Description
Amara, whose name means Grace, walks, and the ground answers. Not all at once, and never for show. Days later a woman notices the withered corner of her plot has come back green, and remembers the child passed that way, and says nothing, and leaves a gift at the door.
The village calls her their good fortune. Understand what they have done. They have found a word for a girl that is also a word for a thing you carry in your hand, and she has heard it since before she could walk. Her mother hears it too, and it keeps her mother awake at night. A harvest is loved for what it yields, and no one has ever asked the field what the field wanted.
But the child is not confused about herself. She gives, and she gives freely, and she chooses. She has put her hands to a dying garden, and she has walked past a full one, and only she knows the reason, and no one has asked, because no one has yet understood that a choosing is taking place at all. Grace is not the gift. Grace is the hand that decides where the gift will fall. She is a child now. She will not be a child forever, and the village will learn one day that it has been receiving all this time from somebody.
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