Tag: travel
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Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing
Words are important, but sometimes it is silence that is more eloquent; often, to sit in silence takes courage, and yet it sometimes communicates more than sound. It allows the listener to anticipate and you, the speaker, to think; it is not always awkward… And yet, there are norms: whose turn it is to listen,…
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Touring New Zealand on Airplane Mode
I sometimes have difficulty knowing whether describing the end of a journey should be classed as an epilogue, or a eulogy. Both signal an end of a sort: both are recapitulations, although of different significance, perhaps; and yet both are kind of schadenfreudish as well, don’t you think…? I mean we cannot repeat the past-…
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I am the Tumbleweed
I am the tumbleweed; I realized it I when I saw the lonely little thing blowing across the dawn sand in Gisborne. Its arms, for all the good they did, were extended like an inquisitive octopus feeling for its way; not lost, exactly, but indifferent about where it ended up. Anywhere is as good as…
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Living with the Phoenix
There are two sides to boredom, I think: one is looking for new things to do -new challenges; the other is succumbing to indolence and, because it takes less effort, do something you’ve done a hundred times before, hoping that maybe -just maybe- something new will arise. It’s Phoenix-thinking: believing something exciting will emerge even…
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The Roads Just Taken
I know we should be thankful for what we have, and not be upset about what we don’t, but sometimes these things arrive as gifts: wind rustling through the leaves on a hot summer day, or creeks babbling like children playing behind a thicket of bushes just off the trail. It’s things like this, for…
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The Fall of Man
I feel I should tell you about falling on the Whanganui River -only metaphorically speaking, of course: one happens on a river, or less romantically, falls in; falling on is different. Very different. Falling, of course is not as easy as it looks; one has to forget about things to fall: the roughness of the…
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Searching for Muesli
Muesli. There was a time when I didn’t know what it was; maybe nobody did. But then they did, and I was caught unawares. Those were innocent times, to be sure, and yet I suppose I was raised that way: be aware of what’s around you, but don’t poke at it; never disturb anything that…
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Age is an imperfect vessel
Have you ever been trapped in a drive-through lane at MacDonalds? Would you ever even admit it if you had? I mean some things, like sweat stains on the collar of your favourite tee shirt, or the rip in the crotch-seam at the back of your sweatpants which a friend points out as you stand…
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