The moon’s an albino hedgehog this morning nibbling on the sky A lone seagull flies low like a stalling Cessna over the Vellum paper sea, as the 83 motors by followed by a red New World truck telling me I can save every day
neighbours are out walking their dogs on the beach, out of reach as I swim in the cool fresh water (the salp have gone for now) and there’s a light show of reflections on the wharf’s wooden piles
the crowds haven’t arrived yet with their blankets and chilly bins even the wind hasn’t arrived (yet) and the traffic is light, it’s going to be a scorcher they tell us, we’ve waited for this a day to savour in the bay
Our local korimako has set up shop to taunt us with their melody Insistent, tuneful, repetitive, hiding we think in the giant macrocarpa we spot tui dancing from pohutukawa to cabbage tree and eucalypt
a breeze lifts so that leaves lift too and sunshine obscures our view fat wood pigeons (the kereru) fly drunkenly low almost acrobatic but our local korimako makes more noise than any of them, show-off
I creep up the driveway toward the macrocarpa, the way I do at night when our local morepork is hooting and tooting and talking to me they also hide and I’m certain detect my silent footsteps, so stop
And instead, I whistle back to the korimako, and considering I rarely match proper pitch with pop songs, it’s surprising that they hear me but they do, and we whistle back and forth, friends for an afternoon
a curious half hour 