Saturday morning and the sun was winking down on us with a nod to get outdoors and be grateful.
Winter is beckoning, throwing us the occasional warning day of rain and wind,
so each day of sunshine is one of grace.
Time to put the baking, the board games, the books and the movies on hold for a moment,
whilst the sky stays fine.
For there is only so much indoor time our young spirits can tolerate,
before their cells grow agitated and explode with a need so great.
To jump and run in grand expanses of green and fill their lungs with intoxicating levels of fresh air.
We climbed through the bush, a stone’s throw from our front door, accompanied by fan-tails dancing in our tread. The bush ebbed away, thinning to let the sun break through and reveal a ceiling of blue. Expansive views of Wellington’s hills greeted our gaze like the contours of a newborn’s skin.
We followed the bush line back along the ridgeway of the valley and down into the fields of Charlotte’s school, where the flying fox entertained us all for ages. It wasn’t till our stomachs protested, at the meagre supplies we’d hastily packed, that we took ourselves home.
And on days when the rains seem endless we will remember today.
