Beside the bridge

 It's a favourite walk of mine, along the waterfront towards the harbour bridge.

The bridge spans the harbour with a quiet dignity.  

It's also the favourite spot of those who love to fish.They bring their buckets of bait, cast their lines, and settle down in the sun,

 Recesses in the walkway edge are conveniently placed for rods to lodge in while their owners go walkabout.

 The late afternoon sun bathes the waterfront, and the fishers make the most of every last moment.

I didn't see anyone catch a fish, but I saw happy family groups, clusters of mates, and solitary fishers, all relaxing in this bright Easter weekend. The bridge above is abuzz with traffic, but down here below the bridge, it's another world, a slice of peace scooped out of the city's rough texture.

The Broken Book

My thoughts often turn to Christchurch. When the weather is clear and serene, as it has been this Easter, I feel glad that Christchurch is getting a break. Whenever I hear of something good happening in Canterbury, I stop to give thanks.

Just over a year ago I was making shrines for Christchurch on the beach. This one was made on the day we observed 2 minutes' silence throughout the country, remembering those who died in the big quake.

This morning I lay in bed and finished Fiona Farrell's The Broken Book. It moves me, the way she set out to write a peaceful book about walking, and then let the earthquakes crack the book open. and become 'a testament to the shaky, wayward paths we walk.'

Shaky are the paths indeed, and yet I felt safe walking with her. Her prose is precise and beautiful, with rhythm and exquisite juxtapositions.

The poems, which run through the book like fissures, are also openings to light. The book ends with the sea and hills falling, and yet asserts the power of love. It was the perfect book to complete on Easter Monday.

Serene Sunday

 Come with me for an early morning walk at The Moorings. We go down the drive way to the narrow tiled path that leads to the jetty. We pass hibiscus and bird of paradise, brightly flowering.

 A bumble bee clumsily bumbles its way through the flowering rosemary, but apart from its buzzing, the air is silent.

 The banana palm hangs down a seedpod, zen in its simplicity.

 As I pass under it, I turn my head and see it hanging against a clear blue sky. Rain was forecast for all of Easter, but so far, not a drop has fallen. I decided to stay in town, and I'm glad I did,

 for the whole city is asleep and still. Not even yachts sailing in the harbour,

 although, as I do my Tai Chi by the sea, a neighbour comes down to the jetty and prepares to launch his dinghy.

Meanwhile Prince Shag presides over a group of cohorts that have come to sun themselves on the nearby boat ramp. They are not going anywhere. From time to time they shift position a little, and then settle back down to dry their wings in the morning warmth.
Easter this year is full of peace, and the serenity of autumn. May yours be a happy one, whether you are in spring or fall.

Bright Easter

 The forecast for Easter was rain storms and wind. But the days leading up to Good Friday have been surprisingly warm and sunny, and the little boats have been out on the water again.

 They must be novice sailors, young people perhaps, because the support vessel hovered close, and the yachts fluttered in close,

 hovering like butterflies around a flower,

 And then, having received the message that they were doing OK perhaps, confidently scudded away in the brisk wind.

 Today, Good Friday, as I did my Tai Chi by the sea, my gaze turned towards the land. Everything is green and leafy, and the sky egg-shell blue.

 This is the kind of day that we didn't see in January, February or March, but now that it's Easter and autumn, the sun is shining and the whole day is fresh and clear, as if summer has come at last,

except that the seed heads of the agapanthus nod in the breeze, as if to say, 'flowering is over, seed time has come.'

Easter labyrinth

Easter in the southern hemisphere is a time for turning within, and going into darkness. Once again, St Matthews in the City has created a labyrinth out of river stones, and has opened it to the public.

Walking the labyrinth has become an annual pilgrimage for me. The cathedral was quiet this afternoon, with Gregorian chanting playing. The pillars have been decorated with palm leaves, and the afternoon sun was illuminating the stained glass windows.

'The labyrinth acts like a mirror or teacher,' says the pamphlet. I took time to form my question, and to write it down. Then, removing my shoes and socks, I entered the labyrinth bare-footed, walking slowly, and flowing into the rhythm of the journey.

The stones were beautiful, and reminded me of river beds where I had sat, or crossed, or camped.

'Enjoy the turns as they can help you to accept change in your life and support you with moving on,' says the pamphlet.

'Turns on the labyrinth can show us many things . . . it is important to trust and move forward'. As I make my turns, the answer to my question emerges. It is not what I expected. That's the nature of the labyrinth; it reveals what has been hidden.

I light a candle after emerging. I have shed some tears. I give thanks for what has been revealed.
In the northern hemisphere, Easter is about resurrection and the joy of spring.
Here in the southern hemisphere, Easter is about the journey into darkness.

Sails in the sunlight

What a surprise, to look out my window and see a red sail. Someone was out there, enjoying this beautiful fine day.

And then there were more

and more still

all colours, it seemed.

Later in the afternoon, I took a walk and watched the yachts scudding up and down while several support vessels stayed close by - a young person's training session perhaps. I too have sailed on the Waitemata Harbour. The Maori name— Wai te mataa—refers to water (wai) like the glinting glass of obsidian. The more modern translation is 'sparkling waters'. Today the Waitemata was showing itself off. Everything was just right, the wind, the sun, the water. A perfect day at last!

Harvested!

It's done! Dear blog friends, I have just brought in the harvest of over two year's work: my new book.
I like to savour such moments. Before I set out to walk to the post shop, I enjoyed crunching into one of these 'NZ Beauty' apples, which are now filling the bins at the Health Food shop.

I like to deliver such a precious package by taking my time. I also sampled some of these Angeleno plums, that have now been picked and brought to the shops. As I tasted the dark red flesh, I reflected on the ripeness of my writing, how ready it is to leave me now, and eventually to be tasted by others.

I cut open the one passionfruit that I have, because I wanted to show you the passion that has gone into this creative project.

And before I packaged up the manuscript, I held a little ceremony of thanksgiving, offering the work back to the source from which it came.
As I walked along the streets, I felt a mix of warm sun on my back and cool autumn wind at my front. The season is turning.
This weekend we turn our clocks back, and the evenings will be dark much earlier. But the cicadas were still singing as I turned up the hill, and at the post shop I found the nice man at the counter, who advised me to pay a little more so the parcel can be tracked. I'm submitting the work for an award for an unpublished ms. It will be several months before I hear anything, and meanwhile I give thanks for the harvest. Although the work has been hard at times, it has also been as sweet and juicy as the fruits of this season.