you drum your song lines
into the red, dreaming, earth
they just get sunburnt
In which we walk the shores of this little island.
Tired. Grateful. Nourished. Hopeful.
Haere ra, 2016.
"The glitter of sunlight on roughened water, the glory of the stars, the innocence of morning, the smell of the sea in harbors, the feathery blur and smoky buddings of young boughs, and something there that comes and goes and never can be captured, the thorn of spring the sharp and tongueless cry - these things will always be the same."
Thomas Wolfe - "You Can't Go Home Again"
"Under the greenwood tree / Who loves to lie with me
And tune his merry note / Unto the sweet bird's throat
Come hither, come hither, come hither
Here he shall see / No enemy
But winter and rough weather"
William Shakespeare As You Like It
I'm writing again. (But who wants to see pictures of notebook scrawlings and scrunched up pieces of paper? In lieu of those, I give you a winter sunset and my attempt at capturing the elusive grey/purple/redness of the sky here). This place is equal parts hard and healing and has prompted me to pick up my pen again to try and write it out.
Here I came to the very edge, where nothing at all needs saying
everything is absorbed through weather and the sea
and the moon swam back, its rays all silvered,
and time and again the darkness would be broken by the crash of a wave
and every day on the balcony of the sea,
wings open, fire is born
and everything is blue again like morning.
"Yet you could feel a vibration in the air, a sense of hastening. It had started with the moon, inaccessible poem that it was. Now men had walked upon it, rubber treads on a pearl of the gods. Perhaps it was an awareness of time passing, the last summer of the decade. Sometimes I just wanted to raise my hands and stop. But stop what? Maybe just growing up."
Patti Smith - Just Kids
The road to Port Hutt.