lam

It's only words

So why is it so intimidating? : )
Thoughts that clang with resounding insistence the rest of the day find their wallflower selves when invited to dance in public.

Icon cymbals playing in exuberant percussive delight. Ferry ploughing the harbour mouth; maestro feijoas piping their flautine heady scent; mccahon's light casting the hills as home, the green green green of home.

The luxury of small moments so high concentrate in satisfaction and corn syrup-free.

Hei Waitata Mo te kare.

Wondering

So I am home and IW is not and I am wondering if it is some evolutionary thing, that women need to come home/back and check in on the, as it were, womb. See how things are, in case, of exactly what I'm not sure but I find myself wondering this as I feel some inexplicable desire to enter the Warehouse or Farmers or a New World to just see how things are, and how things are no longer. And while I have these urges, their companion urges are the desires in me that desire to not feel this way, to not wonder at the mundanities that cement in place a sense of place. Longings to desire something serious, important seemingly worthy of such basic biological and psychological draws. These thoughts are my holiday companions.

Made it

Two 40-minute sessions trying to break into my own account to bring you this message. Password problems thy cohort is inconstancy.

Today was one of those. A good one. No shiny special just cosy warm. Baking, walking, talking, silence and
contentment.

Thanks this life.

And now. Home.

Lyall Bay Beach
was perfect this morning . . .
except for you.

Seagulls, squat little fat men with their heads tucked into their coats coz its Welly.

Seaweed sealions askance and spreadeagled,
paused in Martha Graham postures with the music stop.

Surfers, soles of their feet in salute to the sun.

The breakers rolling in perfectly striated terraces.

My soul begins to drink the swell.

The ferry happened by a little later . . . and the paddle boarder too.

And yeah, all that was missing was you.