The voice of a stream

 All streams have a voice. The small river of my childhood rattled and gurgled over stones as it tumbled its way down from the mountain. The brook of Schubert’s Die schöne Müllerin babbles and rolls along with a consistency that keeps the mill wheels turning.

 Out on the west coast last weekend, I took a favourite evening walk alongside a stream that has a different voice.

 For, you see, this stream has no stones. Not even pebbles. It glides over the satiny sandy stream bed. And its voice is quiet.

 Not even a murmur. More of a gentle slide, a ripple and sometimes a sigh. Then silence. Only the flitting wax eyes and the roosting tuis punctuate the silence with their song.

Walking or sitting by this sandy stream in the evening soothes away all my rough edges. The city becomes a distant dream. I am washed clear. The voice of the stream says, let go, enter my rhythm. It’s the rhythm of being. Just be. The rhythm of release.

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First Fruits

 Yesterday was our festival of First Fruits; halfway between summer solstice and autumn equinox. In the old Celtic calendar, this was Lugnasad, in honour of Lugh the grain god. Later it became Lammas, when loaves made from the first corn were brought into the churches for blessing.
A Maori proverb about this season recognises its significance: Kua makura te kai; ka kai te tangata i nga kai hou o te tau: Fruits have now set and people eat the first fruits of the year. (Fruits in this context refers to all produce).
Out at the bach I gathered in a more meagre harvest than expected. One courgette had been missed and had turned into a marrow, leaving the plant depleted and limp. The promising tomato crop had diminished to a few fruits.

And this is why. Despite all the rain, the soil is dry, parched by the constant winds. And so I carried bucket after bucket of water to my poor struggling beans, tomatoes and pumpkins. The other aspect of First Fruits here in Aotearoa New Zealand is Te Waru. For Maori, this was a lean season, for although berries were ripening in the bush, they were not very filling. The kumara crop was not yet ready to harvest and the stored bounty of the year before was running low. Te Waru means 'the lean time.'

 I'm hoping the garden will revive after its long drink.

 The oak-leaf lettuces are frilling out and looking happy,

 and one butternut plant has produced.

Tucked in among the leaves, I found a few more beans. Enough for a small feast. Even when the crop is not fulfilling its full promise, fresh food from the garden tastes the best.
Finding the wellspring within: that is the task for Te Waru.

Dig within. Within is the wellspring of Good; and it is always ready to bubble up, if you just dig. — Marcus Aurelius

King tide, and I took more than a plunge

 Today, out at the west coast, the day was looking promising. As far as the flax is concerned, summer is well advanced, enough to ripen the seed heads and lift them into the sky. They don't care about the rainy windy episodes that have marked this season.

 As I came round a bend in the track, towards the beach, I noticed something unusual. The lagoon was blue. And it looked bigger.

 I walked a little further and saw that it had spread the full width of the approach to the beach. This is most unusual. Then I saw a sign announcing a King Tide.

 The surf life savers were out in force, for this beach can be dangerous and the rip was pulling strongly today. Most of them are volunteers, fit and plucky teenagers who have saved many a swimmer on the west coast beaches. Encouraged by their watchful presence, I decided to brave the waves and take my first swim of the summer.

As I stood knee high in the cool water, I had second thoughts. 'This is an early December temperature,' I said to myself. 'It's not an-end-of-January-come-along-in' sort of day at all.
That's when I saw it: a big wave bouncing high and rushing towards me. Then I saw the second one, just on its shoulder. And then the third, lifting its head up to get a good view. Now had I been poised with my boogie board, and turned in the other direction, a triple would have been just what I'd been waiting for, patiently, and I'd be all ready for a ride.

But I was just a reluctant, out-of practice swimmer, caught unawares. The next thing I knew I was tumbling over backwards, bouncing against the sand then up and over in the boiling surf. I stood up shakily, knowing that I'd just had my first swim (or was it that my first swim had me?) And it wasn't so bad.
I waved to the two young life guards who were standing at the water's edge, to let them know that I didn't need rescuing, then took another plunge, and another.
Dear reader, I was refreshed, through and through! And invigorated. And proud.

 As I walked back along the foaming edge of the lagoon I could feel a surfy feeling tingling inside me from my toes to my ears. Although the wind was a bit cool, I felt warm enough. The  happy feeling of summer having arrived was bubbling in my veins.

At the beach cafe, I discovered a new item on the menu: gluten-free blueberry muffins. Usually I avert my head when I see a menu of things I can't eat, but today I had a treat. As I sat in the shade, eating my muffin that arrived with a slice of orange and a dollop of yoghurt, I felt there was nothing more I could wish for.
Do you ever have a day like this, when everything you've been waiting for rolls up, all in one day?Today I had a summer holiday — and it was perfect.