They came our oldest, dearest, deepest friends from their farm in Canterbury, to the city for dinner at the end of a long, hot, January nor’ west afternoon. On these hot weather days the sky is an airy expanse of sapphire patterned with shifting clouds - angel wings, swans, fantastic creatures like the whisked up shapes in a Bill Sutton painting. Always I feel invigorated in these conditions, glad to be alive. I like the touch of the sun on my skin. I like the way my body moves more freely in the warmth and I enjoy the feeling of expansion in my mind. On this particular afternoon I noticed how memories of better times in the broken city began rolling in. And this was reassuring because I had thought the earthquakes had damaged my remembering process irrevocably, that it was no longer possible to remember back to childhood and youth without being overwhelmed by stronger images of the recent horror and devastation.