We were 2 stories up on a scaffold of rusted steel and warped boards when Elsworth got deep with us. "Are we doing any good?" Katie asked, flecks of white paint on her arms and in her hair. "You're not doing bad," Elsworth replied. But really, we wanted to know: what were we doing here painting the dialysis center of an Adventist hospital, overlooking the neglected citrus groves and the slow, brown river? "I've painted my high school," I put in, although really I only painted the railing black with a crowd of volunteers on MLK day. "I'd be doing this at home. But here I get to do it in paradise." I gesture towards the landscape. A yellow-bellied bird flies by. This is our last day at the hospital for two weeks.
