Will I make it around for another revolution of the mill? To crush the cane, to extract the juice, to boil down into syrup, to bottle and sit upon a shelf?
It seems I shall not even make it through this October of family birthdays, the almost weekly reminder from the cakes full of candles that life has passed by many of family, that the revolutions for others are winding down, the mill hard laboring to squeeze the remaining juice from them.
And still we circle, drawing upon some courage, some hope out there, that there shall be a good end to all the circling.
From this once tight circle we have family flung all over, scattered as the pummy pile high with the bees hovering over them. It seems almost an impossible task to recover them, once squeezed beyond recognition. We can only pray that someday, the circle will again close in upon us all and we shall again, drink of the sweet juice, gathered around the old mill.
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