I am holding dad’s hand and he is calm, I love the long walk. We arrive at a checkpoint. I stop noticing the crisp morning chill mixed with a fabulous purplish orange sunrise, and stare at their doubting faces. They are questioning my dad and going through the papers. He keeps holding my hand. And we wait, wait, and wait.
2 thoughts on “I am about 8 or 9, with my dad, at dawn, crossing the border to Syria through a Lebanese eastern mountain pass. Wind randomly gushes, then disappears. We are cold, we are walking, and there are upset looking Syrian soldiers”
Beautiful and captivating writing!
Thank you Nusrat!