Sunday, June 5, 2011

A Case for Mornings...

This morning, the city of Wellington was cloaked in the longing of Papatuanuku. Her misty sighs hid the Hutt valley and the top of Mt. Victoria. Slopes faded up high, like ink had been washed away.
The streets were still, even at 8am (when I was setting off for my walk) because it was the Queen's so-called Birthday. Every bus that went past was an Event. Every person I met smiled as though we shared a secret.
Wellington herself was drafted in chalk pastel, edges blurred into the surrounding gray.
Air pressed into the palms of my hands; the tousled head of the wind. He just wanted a cuddle, no boisterous games today.

For a few moments, walking along Oriental Bay, I was completely alone. No cars, no people in sight, just the harbour, with the dark dorsal of Somes island ahead, and the hills, what could be seen of them, and me.
I thought about the people I used to see in Auckland, on my morning runs. The thin biker in stripes and a maniacal grin who careened past at approximately 8.10am. The woman who always ran in full makeup. The bloke in sheathed lycra with long, straight hair that flowed behind him as he sprinted. The little old man who smiled as though I was the high point of his day. I'm not sure if it was my kind eyes, or the escape attempts of my chest that tickled him so.

Here, now, were only the shags and swallows; the occasional seagull.
It has its own charm.

It didn't last of course. I rounded that corner, so I could see down into Miramar and there they all were, Wellington runners I don't have pithy descriptions for yet. I was merely ahead of the pack for once. Not for long.
On my way back I spotted three sting rays half buried in the artificial beach. I stopped and smiled at another runner who also stopped to look at them.
I could see the shapes of their heads, the thin, whip like tails and it made me think of my father, who once tried to pick up a stick while snorkeling and discovered it was attached to a ray. He leaped higher than I would have thought possible for such a large man. That one had been more than a meter across, as I remember it. These were half the size.
Three for a girl. Or, maybe, two for joy and another one for sorrow.

It was still misty when I got home. It was dripping down my nose.

No comments:

Post a Comment