Until now, the transition has been gradual, almost teasing.
But now, without a doubt, it is winter. We shall still enjoy the occasional calm sunny days as often as they may occur, but the new ordinary for the months to come is cold, wet, grey and windy. As I was setting out in search of yesterday’s image, I was stopped at the front steps by the dramatic change in our little Japanese Maple tree. Overnight, two-thirds of its red autumnal leaves just jumped overboard. By the end of the week, it will be bare, and just the decaying leaves on the ground will remind us of the season ended.
I prowled to the West and the North, looking but not seeing, and after an unproductive diversion through Plimmerton and up the winding bush-clad Airlie Rd, found myself close to Pukerua Bay. I decided if I found nothing there, I would return home. At the top of the steep road down to the beach, I saw something in the bleak seascape towards Kapiti Island. I had to push hard against the wind to open the car door, and to stand behind the car for some partial shelter from the buffeting. Gleaming sunlight on a sullen sea with the island almost disappearing in the salt haze all said something to me.
Back in the warmth of the car, I carried on down to the beach road. It’s a quirky little community, not unlike Makara, with houses in various states of upkeep, and often decorated with things cast up by the sea. It seems to be a community that rejoices in its isolation from the community at large. A somewhat sickly tree by the roadside was turned into a n art installation by careful draping with the remnants of a fishing net.
An old dinghy parked on the bank by the road is slowly being absorbed into the landscape. The hole in the hull and the rot around the bow suggest that it will never float again.
Enough for now.