Bare branches are silhouetted against a brazen sky beyond the village. Today the planes have stayed away, but no-one knows when they will return. A few chickens scratch urgently in the red dust.
Presently the rumble of tank treads shakes the dusty road. A mother looks up from where her child sucks listlessly at an empty breast. Behind her the tumbled stones of their makeshift shelter tremble. Her eyes meet those of the man standing above the tank’s turret. Then the barrage starts up again and they are hidden by the blossoming explosion…
beyond the trees
the storm clouds gather
© Maureen Sudlow
Will not know any more about my niece until this afternoon. I would be grateful for your continued prayers.
Though the fig tree does not blossom, and there be no fruit on the vine… yet will I rejoice in the Lord… God the Lord is my strength.