So Much History

I’m looking at a photograph. Moi. Let’s say, early eighties sometime. Alice’s Puhipuhi house. Visiting for the day? Most likely. Head bowed over a spinning wheel. Hair blonder than it’s been for a good while. One foot on the pedal. Bobbin whirring around and around. Somewhat blurred as a consequence. Pile of raw fleece on the carpet to my left. Green spider plant on a macramé (!) hanger. Hanging from the wall behind me. Two bakelite light switches reflecting the age of the house. Long muslin skirt reflecting a particular phase in my life. Feet, bare of shoes, ensconced in socks. Greeny coloured jersey. Made from that unevenly dyed wool, so favoured once. History. History. History. Gone under the bridge.