By Heather O.
They were the bane of my existence in Haiti, living under our balcony and waking me up in the awful hours in the morning. Seriously, if I had had access to a gun, I would’ve shot the biggest one, who I swear never shut up. And then I would have given it to our cooks to fry up for dinner. And I would have eaten it. And enjoyed it.
Here in Israel, it is 5am. I am awake, for a few reasons. Jet lag (does it EVER go away?), a wicked bad cold (yes, I’m sick, which totally blows), and the call to prayer that went off around 4am. (At least I think it was a call to prayer–what else could it have been?) And then, like clockwork, the damn rooster starts to crow. It was as if there had not been a year between my time in Haiti and my time here in Jerusalem. I felt like I was back out on that balcony, wishing for sleep to come, being uncomfortable and overtired, hating nature.
I am so never living on a farm.
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