Look, grandma! Look, a rainbow! Come on, grandma! Get up, let's go!»
«Where are we going, my dear?»
«To the end of the rainbow, grandma! To see it up close!»
It had been raining heavily all day, the sun hadn’t shown anywhere. The morning had dawned gloomy, cloudy. While she was struggling with the goats, still before dawn, the first drops had forced her to lift her eyes to the leaden sky and sigh. Again, she and her daughter-in-law wouldn’t manage to do the laundry and the clothes had piled up in a heap.
Two hours later, the rain painted folds in the air, like a curtain stirred strongly by some breeze, while the soil was already carved by large streams; they flowed swiftly to join and rush out watering the thirsty earth. The fireplace burned with all its strength; the wood sang its last notes before turning to ash, accompanied by the music of the rhythmic beating of the loom.
Mrs. Vagia loved days like these, even though all the other work was left behind; the images of her home sweetened her tired soul, the home where she would, as everything indicated, end her life. Her daughter-in-law, Margarita, sometimes cooked and sometimes rolled dough for her pies, which were famous in the area, or knitted some woolen item. She herself embroidered clouds, flowers, and rainbows on the loom, while little Rinoula, sitting on a stool at her feet, sorted through the colorful threads; she separated them by color and made her own rainbows inside the boxes where her grandmother kept the yarns.