…though we cannot make our sunStand still, yet we will make him run. Andrew Marvell You’re nearly forty, living in the village where you were born, where you belong. It’s small, poor, and a hard three hours’ walk to the next village. It could be anywhere: Africa, Asia, Latin America. Let’s say it’s high, on the altiplano of Peru. Or Bolivia. Days can be bright, and sometimes it’s warm, if you stay in the sun. But at night water turns to ice, and everywhere is black, pitch black. Everyone knows you. You’re your husband’s wife, your children’s mother, their children’s…