Dear Nos,

I can't help but thinking about the fleeing Syrian refugees, I saw some of the families being interviewed on TV and it kind of breaks my heart nos. I saw an old man surrounded by soldiers and being kicked by his own countrymen like the only law is repression and might, and that the old man's life and all the good he might have done, and love he shared was kicked from him the desert dust of his own homeland. The school girl managing a tentative smile, and saying she missed her friends while she sheltered under a tree with her father and siblings while they rested on their march to the border - everything I believe about a homeland and cherishing the land and memories of folks since gone from empty homes and abandoned schools.

Now we have a mass of volcanic dust circling the country, as if it observes us in our frail and stumbling ways trying to raise from dust a homeland in these southern isles, sprinkling and falling among us while we struggle for the moment, forgetting others and becoming mean about all except our own preservation. In Christchurch the shakes continue and people fret about their children and their futures, thinking of the question of refugees and pioneers who came and raised buildings from hewn rock and sawed lumber for learning and a place to be shared. It makes me sad, because I remember some of the young men lifting rock and fallen beam to rescue those trapped, and in that moment young and old were one, for a time people were outside themselves, unafraid to care and help, not anxious about who others were apart from that they were human and cared.

I wanted to write something happy nos, for the children in the desert and our own ones lost here but my strength seems gone for the moment, and I know I must wait watching out for the angels among us to come to lead us home.