Package of Raisin

Watershed

See, it's like a big cup, with that ridge yonder making up the rim. But the cup has three sides instead of being all around like a proper cup, so the water pours out down the creek. Same over the next hill, where the lake with the beaver dam is, and the same again beyond that; all a string of cups, like on your ma's shelf, except all leaking down to the valley. Our river collects all that water and carries it away to the Sea. But if you head up t'other way, then the trees get small and the river peters out to nothing. Thems what we call the headwaters. That's where our land ends and another begins.

Raisin stood now on that dividing ridge between lands beginning and ending. Behind him lay the home his father described, watered by a long shelf of broken cups. Before him opened a watershed of war. Armies mustering away in the distance for a clash like a river on rocks. He'd been out of his land before; to the capital and a bit beyond in his younger days. But this time would be different.

A stiff wind blew across the ridge. He wanted to be down out of it, on one side or the other. But he paused, looking back, because he knew in his heart that this journey wasn't there and back again. He was leaving.

He had a thought then of his village, sleeping by a bog, further away than miles could measure. You're never really leaving, unless it's for the last time. Raisin felt a sudden fierce fondness for his people and their home.

The wind made his eyes water.

"Come along, Penny. Let's get out of this wind."

Raisin started down the gentle slope, leaning into the wind.