Seismic waves traveledfrom the place where things were tilted and tossed; where a warren of market stalls collapsed under concrete; where yesterday mangoes and coffee, lemon grass, coconuts, bushel baskets of gnarled ginger and sugar were haggled for and exchanged, hands touching other hands each belonging to someone with loved ones, or now without, to here. The waves spread out in circles, and every pebble, every small speck of sand moved silently, in a minuscule way to these vibrations. Silently, and unseen, the waves traveled through the bedrock underneath my long dirt road and all the while I was just here caught up in doing things that matter only a little: spreading butter on the fat crumbs of toast brushing cat hair from my sleeves kissing someone in the warm cocoon of bed before the day started at it again, with inclement weather and dirty socks and dishes in the sink, and gratitude is hardly enough.