Bomb shelter

Yesterday I tightly embraced an old friend I hadn’t seen in a brave while, an earthquake survivor. I couldn't get enough of him. Because I got the distinct impression he would have liked to shut out the world and shelter there a while, send occasional notes from a coma.

His partner, his child, his baby on the way and his employees are all, thankfully, okay. At least in a manner of speaking. Their homes, although severely quaked, are mostly salvageable. The business has been lucky enough to relocate to slightly calmer ground and retain its clients, at least thus far.

But he admits they’re all having trouble focusing on anything, sleeping, making decisions and attempting to again live ‘normally’, whatever that is. Tall buildings and built-up areas make this previously ardent believer in historical building restoration extremely nervous to be around. He doesn’t hesitate now when saying, “If they’re badly damaged, just knock ‘em down”.

I have no true comprehension of what these stellar folk are going through, that’s just not possible unless you were actually there. But I see in their eyes, the way they hold themselves and form their words now that something big has changed inside.

My arms are but a minute's shelter from the bomb while an innocent afternoon's sunshine warms our backs.