Taiharuru on a stormy day
I'm huddled against the wall,
the wall
closest to the heater, with a cup
of tea in my hands.
Over the noise
of my grandmother's knitting needles
clicking,
rugby on the TV, my brother singing
and rain pounding against the windows
I can hear the sound of waves
crashing against the shore, the waves come
so high
up on the bank.
I close my eyes and breathe
the familiar smell of the sea.
I make a wish.
I open my eyes;
I'm still huddled up against the wall,
the wall
closest to heater with a cup of tea in my hands.
The Bach
The waves crashing against the shore
The gentle spray
Hitting my face
The wind
Twisting my hair into Medusa's writhing snakes
Smell of sea
Fills my nose
The wet sand
Squelching between my toes
Through the hazy curtain of the rain
I see my mother
Standing on the deck
Cigarette in hand
As I make my way up the sodden grass track
My dog catches a glimpse of my figure
She's off
Tearing down the hill at hundred miles an hour
She leaps
A ball of wet fur, mud and sand
The rain steadily falling harder
The closer we get to the house
As my foot crosses the threshold
Lightning flashes across the sky
A clap of thunder sounds
The waves becoming monstrous beasts
Rearing towards the sky
Is a beauty to behold
