After the earthquake, silence in the garden,
Even the birdsong hushed,
And the cicadas shocked to stillness.
After the earthquake, silence in the garden,
Guards like dead men lying,
Whilst the risen Christ waits day’s dawning.
After the earthquake, silence in the garden,
Wailing women running,
Spices spilled, lying on the pathway.
After the earthquake, silence in the garden.
Singing in paradise
Songs to raise the dead, shouting alleluias.
After the earthquake, slowly sound returns:
Lives disordered by death,
Twisted by miracles into new meaning.
Sarah Cawdell lives in Shropshire with her husband and three teenage children.