Own Tune

It is late autumn. The sky, periwinkle blue and the air, crisp and clear. Swept clean by the same brisk breeze whipping the sea surface into choppy white horses. Still, out of the breeze's direct path the sun radiates the full force of its warmth. Perhaps too much so. Thoughts turn to the rock pool.…

The Gift From New Zealand

Fast and furious. Wild. Soon the river is to be dammed.  Opportunities to ride its rollercoaster flow fewer and fewer. ‘Welcome aboard!’ I step from the jetty only to miss gaining a foothold.  Falling splat, the inflated craft cushions the impact.  My nostrils inhale the smell of rubber. From above, a decidedly bristly voice booms. …