The Last Roses of Summer..

early autumn morning
down at the lake



sun kissed
rain tears
stillness and beauty



delicate
like a late born child



summer gone
and roses linger on

petals for a potpourri of remembrance

the last roses of summer

A bookshop sale and a birthday gift token
and this beautiful book is mine!

I always dreamed
when I retired I would study art history.
How sad I was when I discovered there was no such
course at our university.

Art Historian, Mary Kisler has a vast knowledge of the art collections held in our New Zealand Galleries.
I have always listened to her discussions about works of art with Kim Hill on National Radio.
I have attended her talks at our museum where she brings works of art alive with her wonderful background knowledge and wisdom.
Mary is a bright, petite woman full of enthusiasm for art.
I could sit at her feet and listen and learn by the hour.

Instead I will dip daily into this beautiful 400 page volume and explore the early European art in our public collections.

Red and Black for Christchurch..

Over the road from my house is a child daycare centre.
This morning there was something different..


the staff and the children were all wearing red and black.

I too was dressed in red and black, ready to go to sewing class.

Why?

Today was Red and Black Day.
The colours of Canterbury..
the colours of Christchurch.

We wore our red and black as a way of saying..
we are with you people of Christchurch.
We care.
Kia kaha!

As I went about my day I felt very moved to see red and black..
at the supermarket, the service station,
the children coming home from school..

Arohanui
Christchurch

Arohanui!

The gentlest way to fly..

Leaving the lake one early April morning
in a beautiful balloon

with Mo, to celebrate our birthdays
in the year 2000..
another wonderful gift from Steve.



Compared to skydiving this is a gentle way to fly.
It must be the gentlest way to travel in the world.

The gas burner blasts and then the balloon silently ascends
like a dream
floating above reality,
so peacful.

The lake
below is a mirror,
a Monet garden of water lilies.

Over the houses we go,
gardens neat and tidy.

So many trees in this city!
God.. it is so beautiful!
Punga tree ferns are circles of green in remnants of bush,
like big green dinner plates.

Dogs bark and run madly in circles around their sections.
Cats dart across lawns, into shrubberies and over walls.

Children come running out in their pyjamas calling to parents to come and see!
The children wave and we wave back like celebrities.

Adults look out of windows and from behind curtains.
Some come outside and hold babies up to see.
Some peek around corners.

Over the river we float
and up over tall eucalyptus trees.
Mo leans out and plucks a leaf from the top of a tree.

Such a glorious thing is a ride in a hot-air balloon.

We finally land with a bumpity bump
in a field behind an orchard just out of town.

We kneel and kiss the earth and say a little French prayer
of thanksgiving for a safe journey..
and a champagne toast at the lake.

'The winds have welcomed you with softness.
The sun has blessed you with its warm hands.
You have flown so high and so well..
that God has joined you in your laughter and set you gently back
into the loving arms of Mother Earth'

The nearest thing to flying like a bird!

If you dream of flying,
here is what to do..

jump from a plane 12,000 feet above the earth
- with a handsome young guardian angel strapped to your back of course!

This is me falling to the earth above Lake Taupo..
a birthday gift from Steve
when I turned 60!

The mini balloon goes up and I am free falling..
flying like a bird..
there is no sensation of falling
just the freedom of flying
with the wind.

A sensational, unforgettable, peak experience indeed!
When I landed on the ground,   I shouted to the world
"I can do anything!"
I meant it.
High on adrenalin I was asked would I do it again.
"Just once a day!" said I.

Maybe I'll do it again one day.
Three more years to another biggie birthday.
I wonder what I could do...?

Landing like a seagull..

Steve sent me this photo he shot landing in Vancouver in an amphibian plane.  I love that moment just before touch down, when the engines rev and cut back  and ... woohoo...touch down.   I always feel such a thrill..scary...alive in the moment!    Safe landing...and I breathe again!      
Click on it and you will land with him.  Thanks Steve.

Just looking at beach holiday photos..and remembering..

Did you dream of flying when you were a child?



Do you still dream of flying?
When you see gulls soar and glide and dip
and stalling their wings to
come in so effortlessly for landing,
do you dream of flying?

Have you ever woken from a dream
and realised you've been flying ?
The earth spread out beneath you,
an expanse of greens and blue
and the air rushing and supporting..

"You will begin to touch heaven, Jonathon, in the moment that you touch perfect speed.
And that isn't flying a thousand miles an hour, or a million,
or flying at the speed of light.
Because any number has a limit, and perfection doesn't have limits.
Perfect speed, my son,
is being there."

Perfect speed... perfect flight...

is being there.
  


from Jonathon Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach.

Ngahuru.. Autumn... comes in gently..

The first day of Autumn tomorrow.

I am sure the starlings have changed their song
to welcome the mellow season of Autumn.

I lie silently in my bed early in the morning
and listen to their music
and struggle to find words to describe the lovely sounds.

It is a gentle trilling, cooing and slender notes softly rising
and a floating off at the end.
It is absolutely right for the soft season of Autumn.

I was born on the first day of Autumn
and it's quiet mellowness I love.

Starlings have accompanied me through life it seems.

As a child I remember baby starlings deep down in a hollow fence strainer post.
The parent birds did not seem to mind us children peering in
at the upturned too-large
wide open beaks of squawking, naked babies.

This Autumn song of the starlings
awakens memory
and leaves me in a mellow mood.
The day is mellow too.. a soft fog at dawn.


May the mellowness of Autumn bring
peace and calm and healing
to Canterbury..


Illustration:   John Gould.  Great Birds of Britain. 1862-73

As I sit at my computer
this is my view in the early morning.

There are so often beautiful hot-air balloons
floating gently overhead.
Summer is coming to an end
and in a few days time it will officially be Autumn.

Today there are peaceful skies.
I listen to the radio
and hear the stories coming out of Christchurch
and feel an ache as I think of the people there
and their city.
My Gardening magazine arrived yesterday with a supplement for the Ellerslie Garden Show
due to be staged in Christchurch, The Garden City, very soon.
A big marquee was already set up
in the park and was used to shelter the people during those first terrifying days.
The magazine would have been posted out before the quake
and I felt sad to think how quickly life can change.
The Show has been cancelled and ticket money can be re-directed into the EQ Appeal.
But there is also such optimism and heroism.
I love how Catherine's daughter turned the liquefaction 'sands' into a work of art
( see her blog..Still Standing on Her Head).

There is a real feeling of change in the air.
It is cooler in the night
and here and there a leaf is changing colour.

Autumn will officially be here in a day or two.


In my street it is acorn time
and in her usual crazy magnificence
Mother Oak
is littering the place with thousands of acorns.

I tell her 6 or 10 acorns would be plenty!

The children get so excited when they see them,
and gather them up as they walk along.
I cannot resist them either
and take a few home..

and add them to the walnut shells I've saved.
It seems such a pity not to use them somehow.

I've been cleaning and polishing them ready for an arty project.
They make me think of little Irish currachs the monks sailed in.

I've recently enjoyed listening to the fascinating series by the British Museum / BBC...
The History of the World  - '100 Objects'

and thought I will make or find  '100 Small Objects'
to celebrate
the beautiful world I live in.
 The Shaky Isles..
Aotearoa...New Zealand.

As the days go by in what has been called New Zealand's darkest days,
and more and more stories are told of bravery and kindness,
of tragedy and joy,
there are so many reasons for gratefulness..

for a government that can put aside politics and focus totally on the people..
for our own  rescue teams and the wonderful teams from Australia and America and around the world who arrived so quickly to help..
for people like the university students who once more picked up spades to help..
for the prayers and messages from friends all around the world..

a tragic time like this reminds us what is important ..

He Tangata!  He Tangata!  He Tangata!
The people.. the people.. the people!

just another morning?

early morning
the sun is rising

the starlings are softly trilling
and cicadas
like old fashioned typewriters
are tapping out their love letters

 one lone balloon floats in the sky..

all is peaceful
and beautiful

and then I remember..

 and turn on the tv
and wonder

are the birds still singing in
Canterbury

are cicadas still making love music
in Christchurch

A Prayer for Christchurch

o Papatuanuku
Mother Earth

when you stretch and move
you terrify your children

we run in fear
at your shaking

we cry
in pain for we are trapped

 we fear
for our loved ones
who have not come home

when our city crumbles
and is no more
we are terrified of your power
and recognize
our smallness


all we ask

once more
that you
settle into quietness
so we may live in peace and safety
on your
beautiful
and awesome
body



The drawing:  Wilhelm Dittmar. 1907  Alex. Turnbull Library. Ref: Pq 527.9931 DIT.1907

Loving thoughts and prayers for the people of Christchurch..

Swimming in the sea..

Oh the memories of a summer holiday at the beach



the shock of cold water on a hot body
then the body cools and the water feels warm..

the weightlessness of floating

the surge of a wave
and the dumping
and the pull of the undertow..
salt water in your hair..
salty taste in your nose and mouth..

after the wave has gone
the champagne bubbles that follow
popping on the skin while you swim
until the next wave comes
unexpected and dumps you again..

and the joy when you catch a wave
and body surf to the beach
and the sand fills your togs
and laughing for joy
you head once more for the deep..

Whangamata Beach..

a lone fisherman
beneath the moon

a solitary walker
on mirror sand

an ocean dreamer
leans and dreams

and a quiet bird watcher
sits patiently..

there is something about the ocean
that draws us to
solitude
and quiet
thoughtfulness

How do the waves know when to stop?

How do they know where to deposit the day's tidal treasure
of tumbled skeins of seaweed
and bright green mangrove seeds,
of precious empty shells
and discarded backs of crabs...
and leaving them at the appointed place,
retreat again,
the ebbing tide.


Early one morning I walked along the high tidal line
of Whangamata beach
and amongst the drying seaweed,
found three dead
little blue penguins.

Like the baby Maui of old,
Tangaroa
had wrapped them in seaweed
and delivered them to the sandy shore
where
this old woman
could silently grieve their dying

and feel a sadness
that unlike tiny Maui,
I could not hang them
over the warmth of a smoky whare fire
and bring them back to life.

Though I wondered,
the sea could not tell  me
what catastrophe had caused their deaths.
The sea is like that.
Full of mystery.