Spending time waiting is never easy, and I notice the small sounds. Sounds of water running into the washing machine, Rod shifting his ladder as he paints. I want to carry on with my painting, but can’t settle. The hum of the fan becomes a background to this heat, and the waiting…
A long time since I was home. Maybe it’s time to go back.
and the phone rings
so far away
Took Bert down for a run at Castlecliff Beach today – a few clouds around and a bit cold – but suddenly there was Egmont (Taranaki) just standing out on the horizon. Don’t think I’ve ever seen it from there before. It was covered in snow and looked like it had a wisp of steam coming out, but I guess that might have been summit cloud. Magnificent!
a cloak of snow
for dVerse Poets
We have a smaller garden now that is far from perfect. Gardening here is fraught with peril. We plant seedlings, only to have them immediately dug up by the neighbourhood cats. We have tried everything – cat repellent, cayenne pepper, bark chips, rocks – you name it! Unfortunately it seems that many of our cat-owning neighbours are not much into gardens, so ours becomes a magnet for cats seeking easy digging. Consequently there seem to be more rocks than plants in our garden.
We also have an old, rusted corrugated iron fence that most would call ugly, but the textures on it fascinate me. And the plainest of plants have a beauty of their own, casting green shadows in the evening.
not always in the eye
of the beholder
for dVerse poets haibun Monday…
On a few school days we carried a sweaty threepence in our hot little hands to get the most wonderful meal we could ever have. A big family and very little money meant that school lunches were normally jam sandwiches. Nobody ever wanted to swap for jam sandwiches! We reveled in the specialness of being able to order our fish and chips before school, and being allowed out at lunchtime to collect them from the local shop.
The excitement of watching the chip basket being lifted from the bubbling fat and banged against the side of the vat to get rid of any extra grease. Then the shaking, the spreading out of newspaper before the fish and chips were tipped in, the tipping of the salt (as if we were ever asked). The joy of clutching that hot parcel back to school. The envy of other children as they hung around looking for a swap. Hot steam rising from the torn end of the newsprint carrying the scent of fish. Just for one day we were in heaven.
of salty fingers
crunch of chips
The road to Jerusalem winds with the curves of the river, around clay cliffs and through pine forests. Sunlight filters through tenacious trees, sometimes lighting up a leaf, outlining a rock. The peace is palpable, floating down from distant hilltops.
I leave the car and wander the river bank, search for fossils in the cliffs. No sounds except birdsong and the occasional bleating of sheep. Seed-heads are already forming on the wild parsley, and where the sun is warmest, the scent of gorse flowers.
above the leaning cliffs
(for D’verse haibun Monday)
Bert came across a whole new kind of animal when we stopped at Matahiwi for a cuppa yesterday. He couldn’t believe his eyes. These little part kunekune pigs happily charge around the local community looking for handouts. They are perfectly safe from being eaten as they keep the visitors happy. The cafeteria is in the old Matahiwi School and I recommend it as a great and friendly place to stop.
onto a good thing
Crossing the Dargaville Bridge over the Northern Wairoa River on a misty morning is an act of faith. From the middle of the bridge onwards there is nothing but damp cloud, and one can never be sure whether the road actually does carry on to the far bank. Then there are the reflections beneath that seem to point to some subterranean city, populated at the very least by mermaids, and possibly pirates. As always, it lends some excitement to our journey.
(apologies – I couldn’t seem to get past another haibun – maybe next time)