Layers of pink-edged cloud hang limpid in the silent dawn,
waiting for the autumn sun to dissolve them into a blue expanse of sky.
One cloud clings to the mountain as if wanting to stay earthbound,
afraid of losing itself to the vastness above.
A branch of olive, symbol of peace, hangs heavy with plump fruit.
They also wait, unaware of how they will be beaten to the ground with sticks.

From the bed I absorb the day’s first impressions.
The night before, on the very edge of sleep,
we woke, shocked in a flash to full alert.
What in hell was that?
It was as if a giant had lifted the house and slammed it hard against a cliff face.
For just a second we and all around us violently shook.
My first earthquake, ‘so that’s a tremor then’!
If I had been alone I must have surely dreamt it. But real it was,
and sleep was far away until my racing fears of what was broken, cracked or bent,
had had their say and let the sanctuary of my soul reassure me once again.