23Wind-bells chimed and fresh colorful prayer flags blew above the village that was our final destination.
“Are the flags moving, or is it the wind that moves?” asked Lama with a smile.
“We are moving, at least,” I answered, laughing as I avoided Lama’s mind twist.
It seemed like the whole village came to greet us. Dirty little children wore T-shirts with American logos on them that Lama had brought the last time he came. Mamas carried babies and seemed amused as our caravan of seven poured into their village.
Lama Yeshe introduced us to Tendra and Karma and their grandfather, who used two walking sticks and looked very, very old.
The girls looked just like their photos and I felt like I already knew them, even cared for them. They both wore tattered skirts that had been carefully sew
