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vibrantabyssYesterday it finally rained, not hard and only for a handful of hours, but at least the ground isn't dry. I went out for a hike in the rain, mostly along a forest path. The tree cover was enough to keep me somewhat dry, despite the fact that the rain coming down on the leaves was more than fair competition for the cicadas, and those drone loud enough that I want earplugs in some places - not to sleep, but just to walk through. I take a side trip through a field and up a ridge line to look down across the tops of the trees, and up to see the clouds tearing on nearby hilltops. Then I turn around and watch cloud and fog roll in across Nelson, covering the port and some of the barrier strand. The lighthouse remains in view.
Once more in the woods, I stand in the rain-shadow of a tree, listening. I can hear three things: rain, wind, and cicadas. No motors, no voices, not even the sound of my breathing. I close my eyes and let the purity of it wash over me and through me. The back to the hostel for a change of clothes.
So, no chance to dance in a summer thunderstorm on the far side of the world. And now my time here grows short. Half a day and I will be at the airport getting on a plane to head homewards. And the last two days I have been feeling more and more torn. I know I will soon be leaving and part of me wants to stay. I have found my door into summer, and I do not want to walk back out. I miss home, my friends, my cat. But I do not want to leave here, not yet. There is something magical about this place, like a door into childhood. I wonder if three months would be enough to make me truly homesick?
Last time was here I think I ripped myself in two with those feelings. This time it is not so intense, and not driven by ghosts from my last trip. There is something about this place that draws me. And I will be back again.
There are so many wonderful experiences that I have not put down in writing, many stories left to tell...
Once more in the woods, I stand in the rain-shadow of a tree, listening. I can hear three things: rain, wind, and cicadas. No motors, no voices, not even the sound of my breathing. I close my eyes and let the purity of it wash over me and through me. The back to the hostel for a change of clothes.
So, no chance to dance in a summer thunderstorm on the far side of the world. And now my time here grows short. Half a day and I will be at the airport getting on a plane to head homewards. And the last two days I have been feeling more and more torn. I know I will soon be leaving and part of me wants to stay. I have found my door into summer, and I do not want to walk back out. I miss home, my friends, my cat. But I do not want to leave here, not yet. There is something magical about this place, like a door into childhood. I wonder if three months would be enough to make me truly homesick?
Last time was here I think I ripped myself in two with those feelings. This time it is not so intense, and not driven by ghosts from my last trip. There is something about this place that draws me. And I will be back again.
There are so many wonderful experiences that I have not put down in writing, many stories left to tell...
