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           Therainsfellgentlywithoutbruisingthetendersweetnessofallgrowingthings,therewasnosnow,andthesunhadjustenoughstrengthtocherish,neverenoughtosap.NewZealand’sscourgesthunderedupoutofthebowelsoftheearthratherthandescendedfromtheskies.Therewasalwaysasuffocatedsenseofwaiting,anintangibleshudderingandthumpingthatactuallytransmitteditselfthroughthefeet.Forbeneaththegroundlayawesomepower,powerofsuchmagnitudethatthirtyyearsbeforeawholetoweringmountainhaddisappeared;steamgushedhowlingoutofcracksinthesidesofinnocenthills,volcanoesspumedsmokeintotheskyandthealpinestreamsranwarm.Hugelakesofmudboiledoilily,theseaslappeduncertainlyatcliffswhichmightnotbetheretogreetthenextincomingtide,andinplacestheearth’scrustwasonlyninehundredfeetthick.

           Yetitwasagentle,graciousland.BeyondthehousestretchedanundulatingplainasgreenastheemeraldinFionaCleary’sengagementring,dottedwiththousandsofcreamybundlescloseproximityrevealedassheep.Wherethecurvinghillsscallopedtheedgeofthelight-blueskyMountEgmontsoaredtenthousandfeet,slopingintotheclouds,itssidesstillwhitewithsnow,itssymmetrysoperfectthateventhoselikeFrankwhosawiteverydayoftheirlivesneverceasedtomarvel.

           Itwasquiteapullfromthebarntothehouse,butFrankhurriedbecauseheknewheoughtnottobegoing;hisfather’sorderswereexplicit.