As I write this, I am hundreds of miles from home. Hundreds of miles from the destruction and devastation of my home town. Nearly two weeks ago, I packed my girls into the car and drove as far north as I could, arriving in the safety and sanctuary of the beautiful Golden Bay. Here, we have been able to pretend for a little while that life is normal. We have walked along the seashore, collecting seashells, paddling and splashing in the shallows. Basking in the beautiful, warm climate. Living a simple, beautiful life.
As our two weeks here draws towards an end, I now only see glimpses of the scared little girls I traveled here with. Holly, too terrified to go on the beach or open the windows because the sound of the waves and the wind was too terrifying for her, the sound too eerily similar to the sound heard in the seconds before an earthquake. Isla, clinging to me, like a little monkey, reluctant to leave my arms, even to those whom she knew and loved. As I watch them run down the beach, cooing like seagulls, laughing and squealing, I feel sad that I have to take them back to the city which has caused so much fear in their tiny hearts.
The dream is nearly over, back to reality soon.