This has been a week of extremes – sorrow and joy fighting in my life.  My beloved home town has been the victim of another tragedy – this time a tragedy of hate, as fifty people lost their lives in the Mosque shootings.  How do you understand this kind of hatred.  I cannot.

On the other hand, we have been visiting our cherished great-grandchildren, and it was so lovely to spend time with them, and to be welcomed by our family in Whakatane.  I pray that they will grow up in a world that has less hatred.  We do not need to hold to the same ideologies to love each other.

what happens
when the well
runs dry




It has been dry here for weeks, and everything is drooping – including us.  Last night the moon was coloured by the dust haze in the dry air.  I went out with the dog and was hit by the brightness of the moonlight.  Unfortunately my photographic skills are not yet good enough with these shots and the moon just showed as a big white blob…

hunters’ moon
blood red on the horizon
nothing moves

You can see there are clouds building – and this morning we have some gentle rain.


I was woken by a small earthquake in the early hours of this morning.

Here in the ‘shaky islands’ of New Zealand theories and legends about earthquakes abound – concepts such as earthquake weather, which probably has some small basis in fact as pressure changes affect the earth’s surface.  There are stories of animals becoming restless before large earthquakes, and I recall a particular time where a neighbour’s little dog hid under the house crying before a not insignificant shake.  On the West Coast of the South Island there are reports of loud noises from the mountains before some earthquakes.

The Maori also have their own explanations such as the restless movements of Taniwha, supernatural creatures who inhabit areas of the earth or sea.

hot night
the earth shrugs
in its sleep



A haibun challenge for MLMM

Storm flags are flapping on the harbour as the wind picks up.  On the water some boaties are checking moorings while others have decided to head out to sea hoping to avoid the worst.  Along the seafront shop owners are sandbagging doorways.  Storm shutters are being hastily hammered across windows.  A mother loads her children in the car and heads inland.

sea surge
no-one quite wants
to believe


A haibun on change and transitions for Dverse poets

It was a gypsy life in the Air Force – home was always wherever we hung our hats.  We got used to hanging new curtains, digging new gardens, meeting new neighbours, and the children survived a succession of schools and friendships.  They grew up and left home, and still we travelled on, just on our own this time.

Then for a while we put down roots in a wild and lovely place, built a barn, built a life and a church.  So many good friends, none of them rich or even very famous, all of them special.  The gifted years, treasure beyond treasure stored up as memories.  Until we got older, and the children were too far away, and the distances too great.

This time the wrench of leaving was something we felt, like a tree being pulled from good earth.  Pieces of our hearts left behind among the mountains and sea-spray.  A different transition.

you and I
always moving on