By Leona Thomas
Dust rises like smoke – drifting, disbursing, gone. Now you would never know it was there. In a few days time, if the wind blows the right way, somebody up a mountain in Tanzania will take a deep breath. They’ll inhale and say, “Ah, they’re drilling in Croix-Daurade again. I smell it here today. Blessings brothers, I hope it all goes well for you! And they will sigh.
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