THE EARLY MORNING SKY, rinsed clean by the recent
winter rains, curved overhead as though it were an in-
verted bowl. Ruth, striding toward the well, paused for a
moment and tipped back her head to look at it.
If we could find a clay that would turn blue when it was
fired, she mused, how beautiful the pots would be. Or even
a blue slip to trace on the outer surface of the bowls.
Wouldn t it be lovely?
A familiar voice pulled her attention away from the sky.
"What are you looking for -- birds to trap for dinner?"
Ruth grinned. The woman coming toward her was her
sister but as unlike Ruth as it s possible for sisters to be.
Small and oddly fair for a Moabite, Patima bore no resem-
blance to her tall, dark sister. Nor did her pointed, elfin face
have any similarity to Ruth s calm, serene face with its
broad forehead, winged brows and wide, mobile mouth.
"I was admiring the morning sky," Ruth said. "Don t you
ever think of anything besides food to cook?"
Patima lengthened her steps to match Ruth s. "And you,"
she replied. "Don t you ever think of anything practical?"
"I was being practical," Ruth argued. "I was thinking
how beautiful it would be if my husband could make pot-
tery the color of that sky. Look at it! Summer sky is never
like that. Only winter mornings have that clear, lovely
colar."
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