The young woman dips her brown wooden pail into the murky water. A leafy deep green string of seaweed catches on the rough edge of the timbered pail and tiny twigs and leaves swirl in the muddy liquid. She watches it settle, slowly, patiently. She looks deep into its unclearness and knows that her future is uncertain, but she sees the reflection of her responsibilities in the stagnant water. She knows that others are depending on her, her family and her friends. She accepts her responsibility to carry the burden, in hopes that she will succeed.

The walk to the pool of water had been relatively easy, but the walk back would be very difficult, and the woman knew this. The path was rocky and steep. Her feet woud press and drag, unprotected, exposed against its harsh surface. She took her first step forward. It proved not as hard as she’d expected, but she didn’t hold any false hopes, she knew it would not always be this simple.

After walking several feet up the incline, the bucket’s weight seemed to have increased, as did the amount of water in it. The woman gazed into the water again and saw the faces of her unborn children. She knew that they too would look to her and that they too would demand responsibilities from her. This she accepted and continued to walk forward.

Soon the bucket was so full, it risked spilling over the edge of the wooden pail with each uneasy step.

Half way up the hill, the water surpassed the bucket’s capacity and it soaked her raw feet and weak arms. The bucket’s weight was more than the woman could bear, but yet she persevered. Her arms shook and her body trembled almost violently. She clenched her teeth and sucked in each breath through her clamped jaw. Her feet bled, for every time her fragile feet toughed the relentless path, a jagged stone would tear her soft flesh.

Finally, she had to stop, she had to pause. She stood upon shaky legs, begging them to hold her up. She pleaded her body to allow her to continue on. When her panting slowed, she began to press onward.

The loose rocks that occupied the upper section of the path slid beneath her feet, she lost balance and fell forward, scraping her knees against the ground. The bucket flew from her sore arms and began to roll down the hill at a quick pace. IN an attempt to stop it, she scrambled around on the gravel and tried to run down the hill. The hill is too steep and her feet cannot keep up with her speeding momentum. They catch on the rugged ground and her limp body summersaults repeatedly all the way down the uneven hill. She finally stops, sprawled out on the dirt bank at the water’s edge, too worn and tired to get up, too week to stand… She is almost ready to give up, but she remembers that she cannot, too many people depend on her, she has left too many things undone. In a silent plea, she is given the ability to muster every bit of strength that is life in her and manages to life her beaten corpse off the ground. With much difficulty, she bends over and picks up the wooden pail and dips it into the murky water once more…