Unwind. Rewind.

“The birds sound good," I say out loud. It is hard to feel and think back to capture the flavors of twelve days of feasting in NZ with sights, sounds, and smells of Warrnambool spring in the way.

Yesterday I walked on the beach east to Granny’s Grave, then up through the dunes to the seaside promenade, and back along the walkway. Barefoot. Not quite as monumental as long ago summer’s first run across Stone Harbor sidewalk pebbles, but a threshold crossed nonetheless.

There was so much new in the air. A new bird cry that startled me in its sharpness. I heard it again today and this time saw the thrush honey catcher only a few feet away, comfortably housed in a thicket of what looked like Manzanita blackened by fire. The only fire though was that of magenta wild flowers pushing up from below and licking at the branches.

There were two large wallabies out in the field by the car park adjacent to the beach access at the Flume.  I watched them. They watched me, until I moved on to the beach.

The warmth of the day was cut by a strong cool knife of arctic breeze. I went with the wind. Generally that is not preferred, but I knew the promenade walk back would be sheltered from it.

Another “rule” is to physically take no more then one item per day. It was a two item walk though, with a heart rock catching my eye, and a rare for Warrnambool gift of a well worn abalone shell. Abalone shell is a Maoiri treasure of sort, used for art and decorative purposes. I figured it was there to link me back to NZ.

I had the sight lines in all directions to myself.  There was a large yellow sea buoy washed up on the beach near my turn around point.  I wondered about what storm brought it there, but it wasn’t talking. So, a turn to the north away from the sea, up and though the dunes, to a yellow brick road of promenade path leading to the wonders of spring.

It was warm, almost hot in the sheltered hollows and dips away from the breeze. I was brought to alert by that sharp hidden bird cry. The whole landscape had changed from last being there a few weeks ago. A new palate of colors and textures had been spilled out over the bush and dune grassland. Flowers that had been in full bloom were now fading, with some going to seed. New blooms of color were mixed in. Both the grasses and bushes were subtly frosted here and there at their tips with wispy seedpod entrails.  

Fairy contrails perhaps…. I follow them back to New Zealand, a very magical place indeed.  In deed. In spirit.

My basic illustrative analogy is that of a twelve round prize fight with NZ the undisputed champion. Each day was another knockout round of wow, pow, did you see that?  And look, more sheep!

The mountains outside of Queenstown are called The Remarkables. They are. A north south spine of snow covered rock, steep sides, boulder dotted slopes disappearing into the tree line.  Their angular ridge edge reaching to the sky was a giant cosmic gear or fly wheel waiting to engage with who knows what.

There were ever so many other vertebrae mountain ranges all along the west coast, connected with sinewy braided rivers overflowing with water and ice, nourishing both alpine rain forest and alluvial plains full of glacial scree. And sheep of course.

Ocean and beaches. More magical rocks, both large and small. A layered landscape at every turn of light and shadow, greens, greys, and blacks.  Pastures, waters, boulders, trees, rocks and snow disappearing into other felt but unseen worlds of weather, wind, and rain.

And then it all grabs you again the next day.  And the next…

One particularly compelling constant was the inner awareness of special and sacred places opening up to us. The whole landscape still reverberates with the energy of earth and sky being pushed apart by one of the Maori first people (the children of earth and sky) so as to let in daylight.

Our Auckland hosts tuned us in to the bicultural nature of NZ place and culture. Museum visits there and in Wellington turned us on to the pervasive richness of it all. We dropped out into it further each day. 

It was a good trip.

All that and fruit swirled ice cream at a road side stand, white fish omelet at another stop, drinking glacier fresh river water, boat rides, flooding lakes and streams, birds, walks, more birds, train rides, waterfalls waving at us almost every day, indoor miniature golf, outdoor mountain hot pools in a rain forest, beach discoveries, ocean caresses, more walks, snow and snowed on, good food, and great people.

OK, I did knock off a piece of passenger side car mirror as I ducked to the left coming off of one of the many one way bridges with an incoming car headed my way, but we had the extra insurance, something I strongly recommend for NZ rental car driving.

It was a ride to remember, retrace, and revel in what it revealed.

PS  A note on a bit of paper that I just found,  written at Te Papa Museum in Wellington, the “Golden Rule” of Walter Cook, a collector of domestic wares:  “Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.”