an unexpected event

this is not the sort of thing you want to see

when you are flying over your home patch

the Eden Valley fire ignited about 11am on January 17

[about the same time as i arrived at Adelaide airport]

by the time my flight was in the air

it had grown to a substantial blaze

thing is, when 13 people are relying on you to show up wearing you best set of bunny ears

there's really no option of pulling the plug and heading back home into the smoke

i have my fingers crossed that my family will be sensible

and for now at least the wind has changed

[which just means that it's a completely crap situation for somebody else]

after a sleepless night in Wellington

and a quick totter down Taranaki street to Te Papa

for some calming Colin McCahon therapy

 i hopped the straits to Nelson

to be wrapped in a huge warm welcome 

which made me feel a whole lot better

[on the way at the airport i taught a woman how to make string

because she was fascinated by what i was up to -

she hopped on her flight with a handful of wet silk shreds

and much enthusiasm, bless her]

anyway the fire is not the unexpected event. 

in Australia it's not a question of "if" the country will burn

but "when".

that's how it is.

the unexpected event

[title deliberately purloined from Tolkien]

was this

a parcel

addressed to me

from kowtow

a clothing company based in Wellington

there was a sweet note

and beautifully packed

between deliciously rustling tissue paper

two gorgeously soft timeless fabulous pieces

made from Fairtrade Organic cotton

and in a very comfy size.

thank you kowtow

i know where i will be shopping for simple

soft but sturdy things to wear

under winter layers

or for soft spring afternoons

[in summer i do a complete cover up]

i think our work goes very well together!

musings at the green parrot

overheard on the wharf at dusk... "that's odd, even here the sun sets in the west". a visitor from another planet, perhaps? days end finds me in Aotearoa, land of the long white cloud, a whirled away from my usual haunts.
nonetheless there are familiar paths to tread, flowers to pick and slip unobstrusively into a pocket, rusted fragments to find. i go down to the sea. the tide is out so my quest for a bottle of seawater takes me somewhat gingerly down slimy steps. winkles cluster busily about. there are mussels in abundance. water bottle filled i turn to Taranaki street and the familar comfort of the Green Parrot. my luck is in, there's a corner table where i can establish my defences, back to the wall, behind the journal/keep, and play the watcher.
three men whose sporting days are long behind them consume vast platters of grilled meats. they chew open-mouthed and manage conversation at the same time. old friends who can dispense with niceties. the waiter brings bread and butter, i spread one on the other, liberally apply salt and am well content.
no walking up Taranaki in the rain tonight. the dimming sky is soft, blue, gentle. last year, caught in a thunderstorm after dark, i was gathered up by a kindly police officer who would not hear of my quest for a bus and insisted on driving me back to my digs in Island Bay. only in Wellington, where (no doubt to that bizarre visitor's ongoing surprise) the sun has just gone to rest, in the west.