Tuesday, June 20, 2017
Aboard the Marrakesh Express
I never did learn her name. She was a beautiful, young girl sitting across from us with her mother and grandmother. While language was a barrier, it didn't matter. We communicated just fine. When the train slowed and it became apparent it was their stop, I reached into my purse, pulled out the doll and gestured to the mom if I could give the doll to her daughter. Her smile said it all.
As they disappeared into the crowd I watched as the young girl held the doll up for me to see, waving the little doll in the gentle breeze smelling of olives, oranges and the Atlantic.