The ridge dresses up

Te Aute ridge is in flower again. The glorious kowhai's annual show. Welcome golden cups dominate the landscape. Carpet the road. A springtime playground for tuis. Like this young specimen who, quite charmingly, showed no fear of the photographer. And dotted around about, clematis. Lazily draped over manuka hosts.

Photographer/Liz March

Email to a friend (dreaming of summer)

it's saturday morning. i am listening to kim hill. loud bird noises from outside clamour for attention. your faithful snowdrops, flowering against the front fence. purple and yellow pansys, cheerful in the rectangular pot. its neighbour, rosemary, smothered in small blue flowers. lucy, sleeping amongst straw, dreaming of summer, pays no attention to forboding overcast skies. a handful of blue and white forget-me-nots, proud amid the onion weed. lone yellow freesia, against the garage. fig tree sporting tiny green leaves. bluebells, rocket towards opening. rhodadendron, a mass of cerise pom-poms. birds come and go from the feeding platform, lately invaded by a much too large pukeko. great clumsy oaf!

it seems you have left blackberry picking well behind and are moving on to less romantic and more challenging pursuits. i hope you will take care.

cheers! my friend

The kitchen no longer bears my signature

The kitchen is no longer mine. My voice has been lost. Drowned out. Daring to enter, I am struck by my absence. I have become a stranger here. And it, a stranger to me. My own colours have faded. Gone, flourishes that spoke of the woman who loved its spaces. Unavoidable others have left their mark. With clumsy, unconsciousness. Ugly. And I want to scream. GetoutGetoutGetoutGetout. But most of all, I want to weep.