Voices on the Wind Thoughtful Voices
My Necklace by Wilda Morris Little blue lava beads hang around my neck. Made in India, I was told, so I ponder the lives of children collecting rocks, men and women crushing them into pebbles, stuffing them in canisters to be spun in pastel paint and careful hands placing them beneath a drill (fingers mangled if they donít do it just right). Then children threading needles, stringing the beads into necklaces sold half a world away. I see the workers dragging home at dusk, hungry but too tired to eat, slumping onto bed or chair, but I may have it wrong. Perhaps a backhoe scoops up the rocks, puts them on an assembly line and machines turn them into necklaces like the one Iím wearing now.