Shaky isles

It's a very odd and discombobulating feeling when the ground beneath you buckles and shakes like a dog getting out of a lake.   

Very early this morning, as the clock ticked over to a new day, a 7.5 quake ran the length of Aotearoa and we jumped out of bed and slid under it. The lights swung violently and pictures rearranged themselves but, thankfully, our 126-year-old house refused to submit. 

The only casualty was a vase that fell off its plinth (one Animator and a stick of superglue later and it's sorted). We were so lucky when so many around the country weren't.       

All day a terrifying parade of aftershocks have taken another crack; I have spent today alternating between doing phone interviews and jumping under my desk. Thankfully, only one aftershock has come close to this morning's monster which was probably the biggest I have ever lived through (and by God there's some competition). Some screaming may have been involved, there were definitely several expletives and my hands didn't stop shaking for some time afterwards. I also hit the deck so quickly, the right side of my torso is now bruised.  

Those of us who choose to make this quiet wee backwater our home are well aware of the constantly-grumbling ground upon which it is built. It's the price we pay for living in paradise. But holy crap, it always still comes as a shock. 

Crossing everything on my person that it settles down soon.

(Pic credit: Fairfax)