Freshly Cut Grass

It's an early bird. Mark and Robin toodle off early to beat the storm which is sitting above Antartica and below us, and is three times the size of Aotearoa. According to NIWA, the National Institute of Water and Atmospheric Research, there will be snow down south and high winds. This will be a weather bomb. I bike up the hill then disturb Sharyn's yoga when I pick up the lawn mower petrol can; Sharyn has kindly stored my garden stuff in her garage. It's sunny and warm so I open up the house and put my fingers in the dirt. The garden needs work and a little at a time will keep it under control. Doing errands on the way home, I bump into Morrin at Lighthouse. She's like whanau to me and to Finlay. Te Wai Pounamu, the South Island, or Greenstone Way, is small. My second mantra, never burn your bridges. Morrin and Ruth, my aunt, used to do radio broadcasts on books, and organise book events. I usually bump into her in those settings, today she's sorting lighting for a renovation. I've come in to see Finlay about swopping out the light strip above the kitchen bench. It won't fit, so it's two down lights in the bulkhead. 

Kahu is going to Auckland for a week with his dad and I get him to mow the lawn on the way to the airport. Or most of it. The stones hiding in the grass rule some patches out. I snap Kahu under the blossoms of his birth tree. The stones people brought on his name day, 2nd March 2003, sit round the trunk over the earth which shelters the roots. I dig a bit more once Kahu has gone. The garage, new home of the mower, smells of cut grass. Sweet. The first mow of the year and of the build. I share Chinese kai with Nicky and Kritara. Nicky's having a nightmare fitting the tongues into the grooves of her Australian Black Butt flooring. Ouch.