Mornings at the bach are special. I'm woken by the serenade of the tuis, whose song is so much more resonant and throaty than the tuis in town. The air is cool and I wander among the garden plants, checking how they are, giving them water, and picking off bugs.
The garden is full of little suns: the courgette flowers which open so sensuously, offering their dusty golden pollen up to the bees, and the marigolds which are dotted around as companion plants. On a cloudy morning, these are the first suns to strike.
And this morning the kereru visited again, with a mate. So there, high in the kanuka, I am blessed by the presence of the priest and priestess of the tree tops.