What’s that noise? Oh. It’s gone. No, there it’s back, louder….
Nah, gone again . . . bah, what is it? Like the look of a dog as you’re eating lunch on the back step of the woolshed, the persistence, oh, it’s the alarm. Sod it.
It’s so warm and sooo cosy in here, and I can feel the icy breeze over my face, yep, it’s freezing out. Can’t I, just a few minutes… oh, I loathe me sometimes. As a part-time photographer, I’ve got to get these aching bones up to catch that light, even though it’s dark now and the light is yet two hours away.
As with anything else, the tougher and more distant the gain, the more satisfying the reward. Walking to location in the pre-dawn half-light, I’m sure that my forever trusty tripod has turned into the heaviest dark slithering wet beastie with a life of its own. I mean – it can’t be that my wrists and hands struggle to hold her, as it’s only the same few kilos of aluminium last weekend, eh? And of course it’s nothing at all to do with the arthritis that I “don’t” have, that I do my utmost to ignore, deny, and generally shut out of my mind every other moment of each waking day.
Some hours later, the session is over with the memories full, batteries empty and warm fuzzies from having silently observed Papatuanuku’s beautifully silent activities. With some great images on film, feelings of accomplishment start dissipating as the foot department gradually lets me know it’s time to go.
The walk back to the car each weekend gets longer and longer with ever shorter steps, always a reminder that I really should get some insoles to go into my gumboots. The kind of insoles that it doesn’t matter if those same boots fill with water as they do. Insoles that don’t mind fresh or salty water – usually salty, often muddy, sometimes even with sticks and stones, and usually a combination of all the above.
Insoles that massage like a TENS machine, ever so soothing and relaxing. Insoles that come laced with anti-inflammatory and pain killing properties that are absorbed into the feet, irrespective of the thickness or dryness of sock would be a dream.
Home now. Nothing quite like shedding the boots and that first morning cuppa, laced with some manuka and just a dash of cream for the ever-dry throat. What a treat!