This person feels some sense of satisfaction. . .

Have survived another year, with some outside assistance from vets ‘n quacks, usually as a last ditch response to keep workmates and the hut wife happy so the normally silent channel may resume. This person is grateful for the support, and caring nature of those in this tiny inner circle.

Having lived a life based on, in and because the great outdoors is just out there awaiting adventurous exploits, and, now, three lives of the nine down, this person’s head has moments of head above the tidal sands.

Anyway, the motley continues with . . .

We’ve enjoyed a brilliant year of places new, olde ‘n revisited, and older from where this person lived or hunted in a previous life. Hunting now for images and memories rekindled or new, and for once sharing these places with this person’s soul mate makes these experiences more special.

The pain, pains, aches, injuries when it or they come in
whatever form, it is minor in the scheme of life’s experiences; becoming
background white noise, silent headspace shadows.

It is the experience that shines above all else. It is the
experience that shall be remembered forever. It is totally and purely sensual,
the feeling of the sharpest clear mountain breezes on skin, and the fresh scent
of the forest or of salty coastal throughout the seasons.

This scent can be of the sweetest honeysuckle on the bush
edges, of the equally sweet rewarewa, and with that the sound of the bees hum.
This scent can be richer in late autumn, of decomposing leaves as ground
carpet-litter. It can be antonymally autumn – the spring, or new life, pollens.

It is the feel of the softest leaf litter ‘neath towering
podocarp forests, or hardest river bed rocks on a river bed bash in the eternal
image hunt, or the feel of sharpest tree limb scratches bite while battling a
scramble through dense scrub to reach that unseen waterfall.

It is the sound of the avian in their haven, as they crowd
forest canopies and stream valleys, the cries of the kaka in the wild, the
shining cuckoo or grey warbler warbling the days away. It is the sounds of the
kiwi and morepork in the night’ opera’s during our darkened outdoors.

It is the feel of the icy crisp streams seeping through the
warm dry socks until the wetted boot fills. The sudden weight and ice is
replaced through altitude gained and lost with an unnoticed strength within,
and a the wetness becomes a warm insulator.

It is also of the sixthe sense, of something special, of eutierra;
the awe of being within such beauty that it does literally make time stand
still. Of just being one tiny life form within all this, to just take in the
natural silence, wipe the tears of inner euphoria.

It comes with the seeing of things for the first time, of
really seeing and acknowledging the tiniest detail, of the interaction between
species, between plants n insects, n scaled and feathered species depend,
coexist, live and let live.

This can be of silently walking up to a deer, a hind with
young, wild pig or deer feeding, with it realising you’re there, to observe in
silence the total peace until it moves on, oblivious.

All this and these shall live forever, foremost and above
all. These are all precious places, sanctuaries, havens, happy places. These
are and always Taonga, kaitiakitanga o ngahere, in the maunga; the awa, manga
and moana.

Until next time; soon even . . .

 

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