I would love to read 
this very short extract
from Alma,
about the valley of Isaiah.
It feels particularly 
poignant and resonant,
a postcard from paradise,
in this moment of isolation 
and lockdown
that we're all 
currently experiencing.
The valley is entirely 
closed off by cliffs. 
And is beautiful and 
hot as a paradise.
It looks like a giant hand 
filled with savanna
and trees and wild animals.
An open hand, 
that provides everything 
needed to survive: 
food, starry nights, 
and up in the branches, 
small monkeys to enjoy. 
It provides the heavy rains, 
where the children run, 
naked, and disappear; 
afternoon snoozes 
where they lie 
between their parents; 
tall grasses 
that incline with the wind 
and the passing lions. 
But nothing exists for them 
outside this protected 
closed off world. 
One family, 
alone, 
in a valley that extends 
as far as the eye can see. 
Nothing else arrives 
from anywhere 
to take on a new name. 
Unless 
you give a name 
to every passing cloud!
