Back from a walk to the ridge
and all the way up we'd watched
the weather coming in across the harbour
and by weather, I mean
a breath like a peppermint-eating cyclist,
nothing, and then suddenly something
fresh and light at your shoulder, and all
the way up we'd turned
and turned again to see it coming
its line drawn and redrawn in the water
closer each time
and how fast we walked
to be ahead -- to the top of Ferry Road
and onto the track through the new
growing spindly things and the crocheted
spider webs and the splash of rata
and push of green and the confetti
of beech leaves on the rise and
fall --
up and
up --
'There,' I said at last, as we stood
looking back at the weather again, half
the water crinkled now -- an old man
smiling, 'is where the pa of Te Hiha stood
he could see anything coming --
the whole
of the harbour.'
We'd left the beach in stillness, and
returned to a stiff breeze.
'There,' I said at last, as we stood
looking back at the weather again, half
the water crinkled now -- an old man
smiling, 'is where the pa of Te Hiha stood
he could see anything coming --
the whole
of the harbour.'
We'd left the beach in stillness, and
returned to a stiff breeze.
Mary McCallum
