Imploding days

What one writes to the strange days of rain filled moments, and where the story goes. I need to get out and take some new photos, but have not got there, the writing has been backing up, so I’ve just released the valve and today these are the post written from the last two weeks.

Imploding days

It’s been one of those strange days,
Where the rain, it didn’t look like stopping,
Then the gray sky, it broke apart a little,
So you walked down to the river,
With the waters moving slow,
The currents even faster, deep below,

As you sat down on the wet grass,
While the tree debris, washed on by,
The river breeze all caught up,
With the tangle of your long black curls,
A soft face half hidden with delight,
As you break into that funky half laugh smile,

With a whisper, the weather’s changing, of
Let’s grab the dirt bikes, let’s make out for the beach,
To greet the low tide, to wade out to the island,
Yes, lets make it our adventure,
The some thirty miles of bush track,
Through the sparse, the coastal woodlands,

Those North Island curls, lead our way,
Till soon we make the wild dunes,
Where the dirt bikes, came, laid to rest,
As we climbed to top the last dune,
The island, just a quarter of a mile to make,
For the saltwater calls us,

As we tumble through the dune,
To pick our feet up, to clear the soft sand,
Grasping hand in hand,
Sprinting for the ocean,
Where the shelf rests shallow in the bay,
Too soon we hit that moment,

Breaking waters, slow us up,
On the sandbar to the island,
It takes ten minutes to get across,
Making for the rising face, we find our favourite crag,
As we scramble the vertical, the wild fruit scents,
They carry us fast a loft, to sleeping grass of our dreams,

Each day to pass, another moment, the times of our past,
Born to watch the sun go down, to become lost with the tides,
Just here to wait till morning, to tip toe through the way,
For that’s just how the story goes,
Lost in a North Island girl’s embrace,
As she share’s her tales….

6 responses to “Imploding days

  1. “As we tumble through the dune,
    To pick our feet up, to clear the soft sand,
    Grasping hand in hand,
    Sprinting for the ocean,”
    Sean, you are an enthraller ! And I am entranced here. Beautiful words 🙂

    • It’s what happens when you live so long in an island nation, and the friends you make are from neighbouring island nations. The imagery is always there, dreaming.

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