An approaching summer storm whipped up a dust cloud on the road to Nadara. Soon a brief rain shower left a pitted, muddy covering over the thick blanket of dust. The sun came out and dried the mud to a crust, awaiting the cartwheels of the first peddler heading for the little Italian town. By the following day, the entire road was ground into deep dust again.
The cycle was not unlike the lives of the people who inhabited the isolated community. For generations, the base elements of the earth had taken on life, only to return to dust again. But even in the ordinary constancy of people’s lives, the extraordinary is known to happen.
Such was the tragic and fabled life of Italian immigrant, Mario.