photo: Leaves speak the language of temperature. In all their autumn glory, they are telling me « the cold is coming ».
The light bends like a truth slightly guilty because of its harshness, while the leaves fall brilliantly. Why does my shadow tug at my sleeve to confide in me, to remind me of old stories I had buried so well? Yet we make peace for a while, just to crumple a few leaves in the last rays of light.
photo: oyster gatherers are often in pairs, in Pohara, always busy, doing what, I don’t know.
The days will pass
doing things,
doing something,
sometimes I will not remember what,
but I will do things
and the day will pass.
*posted in 2025
photo : sunset, Tata Beach
I will shorten the days
of the displeasures of the world
I will flatten the veins
of dark resentment
I will avoid words that are too light
for they weaken as soon as they are pronounced
nothing will be lost
everything will still be there
but buried
but buried
and relieved
of the jumble
photo: reflections, Nelson, botanical gardens
During the pandemic, the worry of living on a small island at the other end of the world (where so many goods (or bads) arrive through the sea, while global transport was hindered, delayed, or canceled), triggered in me the unhealthy habit of stocking up on what I thought was important (coffee!!!). It was only at the end of 2025 that I told myself it was time to live more ‘dangerously’ and let the reserves diminish. A few months later, here we are, back to square one, and I wonder whether I should let go or fill my cupboards.
*still inspired by Edouard Levé
Photo: Abel Tasman Park, a surprise at every step
… but what I would see
through the branches
would change depending
on the time and the day
or the mood of the clouds
and it would always
transform the length of my breath.
And my feet well grounded
in a kind of gratitude
for every breath
*posted in 2025, edited in 2026
