In Napier, where P is attending a conference. We're staying in a pleasant-enough motel, with a clear view of the wide empty bay, low tame hills lining the horizon.The sun has slipped behind them, leaving behind a flush of gold. Above, an irregular layer of dark clouds covers the sky like a lid.
War in Israel, again. With Iran. Iranians are not Arabs, friendliness is a genuine possibility with them, less of a struggle. Witness Salma Abu Gosh. I shall write about her soon, maybe here.
Tonight we'll have dinner with a friend who lives nearby. Maybe we'll talk about the war, maybe not. I sometimes forget about it, briefly, and feel guilty, for not having thought of people, keeping them alive in my mind, a talismanic protection. I wrote my sister a brief email just now. Maybe she'll answer tonight.
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