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."