Water From the Well

When I'm writing, I want to move someone, to make them feel something. And I suppose I write as a way to preserve the stories of my people. To write something down is to make that thing immortal. I like that idea of being immortal. No matter if the book goes out of print or whatever, somewhere a hundred years from now, a copy of Clay's Quilt will be in a library somewhere. Or in an attic. Maybe even in a flea market. But it will exist and that story will be around. And who knows, maybe somebody will pick it up in 2100 and be moved by it. Water From the Well When I was a kid, I worked the wooden crank, drew water from the stone well. Even when the bucket was on the ground, filled to the top, my job wasn't over. I poured the water slowly into another bucket, covered and tied with cheesecloth, strained out the dirt and dead bugs that always floated on the surface. I got no praise or even a word of thanks, only a nod that told me to fill another bucket. But I always knew I had done something, my part in the circle of days where everyone worked to outlive one more year of heat, killing frost, the sun our only clock. — William Miller 20 ...