Nga mihi tino nui, Lois and whanau. This place is something special.
Aldous Harding is my fave. Watching her play at Blue Smoke in February was one of those rare occasions where I felt like I'd experienced something potent and precious - like seeing a fantail in the trees above your head moments before it darts away somewhere out of sight. I won't attempt to describe the music itself; it'd be almost as bad as that there simile (sorry team, its been a day). Her second album Party comes out in May.
"And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in."
Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
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.