It's past midwinter here and each day the skies are full of joy and sorrow. Sun and rain display themselves with vigour and all living things are mute in wonder at it all.
The passing displays of rage and quietude.
After work yesterday I rode up to Matakana on the bike in waning winter light.
The bike hummed in exhiliration at its new freedom and we rode together through Long shadows, darkening colours and keen, cold air.
Gradually the straight and long motorway gave way to turns and twists and as I passed by fields wet with winter rains and turned through slick corners, black and shiny with soft rains, the poetry of the ride seized me and the joy of living came as an unexpected but wonderfully welcome warmth as the keen air felt for all the chinks in my armour.
It was beautiful.
At the last, when the light was almost gone, I turned to the coast and rode to my friends' cottage facing a still and cosy bay and already aglow with the evening fire and the first glass of wine. He is a painter and she a photographer.
Our friendship goes back before time it seems. The kindnesses of old friends are worth more than can be said................