(Softly, almost to oneself)

There is a day… a day unlike any other.
When the sun scorches without remorse, and the sky forgets how to weep.
When hunger isn’t just in the belly—it’s in the bones, in the breath.
And thirst? Thirst becomes a kind of prayer.
That’s the day of stones and oil.

(Pauses, picks up a stone, studies it)

I remember walking—no, stumbling—through a field that had long since given up.
My lips were cracked like old clay pots, my eyes… they’d stopped searching for green.
And then I saw it.
A stone.
Not gold, not bread—just a stone.
I picked it up, placed it in my mouth.
It scraped against my teeth like memory.
Like the earth reminding me: “I am still here. I am still hard.”

(Slowly uncorks an imaginary flask, pours into palm)

And then… the oil.
Not the kind that makes men rich.
No.
This was darker, humbler—pressed from olives by hands that know labor.
I let a few drops fall into my palm.
It shimmered like a secret.
I drank.
And it warmed me.
Not just my body—my spirit.
It whispered of roots that refuse to die.
Of peasants who coax life from dust.
Of stones that have watched centuries pass and still endure.

(Looks out, voice steadier now)

That’s when I understood.
Farming isn’t just sowing seeds.
It’s rebellion.
It’s saying to the sky, “You may forget me, but I will not forget the soil.”
The ones who till the land—they are the true alchemists.
They turn sweat into sustenance.
Their hands, cracked and calloused, hold more wealth than any king’s vault.

(Scoffs gently)

Gold?
Gold dazzles fools.
But on the day of stones and oil, it means nothing.
What is gold without bread?
What is luxury without the scent of earth, without the song of crickets in the wheat?

(Stands tall, resolute)

I rose.
Wiped the dust from my knees.
And I walked on.
With stones in my pockets.
And the taste of oil on my tongue.
Each step—a prayer.
Not for riches.
But for the ones who labor in silence.
The ones who feed us all.

(Quietly, with reverence)

Let the world chase its glitter.
I have found abundance.
In humility.
In resilience.
In the feast of the earth itself. 🙏🏾❤️

©️Beatriz Esmer