It’s quiet and cool this morning by the estuary. The wind died and the party heated up until the wee hours. I didn’t sleep so well, but up anyway because I love walking in the freshness of the morning.
I’m not the fastest walker. I move well and set goals, but I like to see things, think, take breaks – and photos – and write too.
And I need the quiet. Even with earplugs, I can’t seem to relax with lots of noise. It’s not just the sound itself, it’s this feeling that people are purposely being noisy. I mean, why have the muffler removed in a Harley except for the sole purpose of giving the middle finger to everyone else’s tranquility?
Now it’s completely silent except for those who like mornings as much as I do – the birds.
I cross the bridge in low tide from Whananaki North to Whananaki South. Gulls screech and waves break around the head.
Walking straight uphill this early morning onto a flower-covered hillside above the ocean. I can hear the waves crashing below. My pants are already soaked because the deep grass is drenched from last night’s torrential rain.
Just as I left the beach last evening and wandered back to the alicoop, a woman about my age wandered by, smiled and said hello. I followed her and asked if she might sell me a beer. She looked dumbfounded, “You need one?”
Yes, in fact I do after all those hot kilometers.
Turns out she doesn’t like beer at all. And and would much rather I share sparkling wine.
The next thing I know, I am included with husband, dad and cousin for cocktail hour. Tracy is a midwife, Ben, a carpenter. We natter for hours, and I learn much better Maori pronunciation – like wh is a ‘f’ sound, and that their home on the beach is called a bach, pronounced “batch.”