This is the arrow-straight road across the former lake bed near Castelluccio, which appears as a huddled mass on the left.
Following the earthquake and the dropping of the ground level by 2 feet, the place has fallen apart.
The inhabitants have been helicoptered out, all bar 13 intrepid souls who have stayed to feed the animals and protect them from wolves.
The people are saying the apocalypse has happened, but they also say they’re stronger than the apocalypse.
I’ve been feeding Florence in the back of the car for weeks now.
Our efforts today culminated in her jumping in without a problem to go get her pet passport, for which they needed to read her microchip.
An official came down to the car, which had to happen because animals aren’t allowed in there.
For the rest, I stupidly queued at the desk for registering her when she’s registered already.
The man before me in the queue was registering 17 puppies with separate owners (sigh) but at least we had an interesting conversation.
Although his house is sound, he told me, he prefers to sleep outside in a tent where earthquakes instead of being frightening feel as if the earth were rocking him.
If we lived in a teepee I guess I might feel like that.
Our olive grove is on a steep slope.
So steep that it’s difficult to walk on and I tend to go down it on my bum (hmmm).
But now it seems land could tilt any which way, because of the earthquakes.
I’ve seen helicopter photos of the mountains near Castelluccio with great cracks running through them.
Last night, at about 1.40 am when we were on the point of going to bed, there was a great jolt like when a vehicle slams its brakes on. That one was 4.8 on the Richter scale and nearer than any of the others.
Liam is the name of the grasshopper in this photo of mine, stylised by Clive.
I don’t know why I chose the name – it just came to me.
The photo hangs low down just above my desk and is practically the only picture that hasn’t yet been knocked askew by one of the earthquakes.
A lot of the pomegranates are split, but these two are intact for now.
I often wonder how the bush manages to support such heavy fruit.
They must have swayed this morning in the tremor (6.6 on the Richter scale and the biggest in years).
Florence trots nose-down along a sunlit path.
It must seem monstrously freaky to her when the ground moves.
Four paws to feel it through!
But I would imagine she’s forgotten last Wednesday.
We haven’t, though, and the tremors are still continuing. A short one earlier today rattled things on our desks.
There was a second, more violent, tremor last night – 6.1 this time.
I heard it coming across the courtyard – it was like a monster pushing itself under the house.
All the spoons hanging on hooks over the stove started jiggling. A few things fell over.
Florence was very alarmed and hid behind the sofa.
I was outside today, looking across the olive grove to the mountains, thinking about what terrible things there are underneath …