Thursday, December 08, 2005


When I was seven my family moved from a small sunny town to the capital of New Zealand - Wellington city.

Wellington can be moody. Winds fast march from the hills to the harbour. If you walk the hills on such a day you hear nature howl with rage. It was such a day as I walked mile after mile my mind far from the wind that pushed and shoved me. I did not notice the rain that soaked my clothes and froze my body. I walked into grey clouds. I walked alone. As I approached the highest point in those hills I started to run. I ran, I ran to the edge, and I screamed. I screamed in to the wind all my pain all my aloneness all my frustrations.

Wellington can be sullen. Hematite clouds sit low over the city covering the hill tops. The harbour becomes a dark looking glass. Boats make small waves that travel to the waters edge. The sound is a bards prophecy - a tale of leaving but not returning.

You think you’ve given up hope only to awake in a day where everything’s changed. The sun shines, a fresh and gentle breeze strokes your skin, and the harbour twinkles and smiles. All the myriad vibrant colours of houses and hills are accentuated. People walk a little taller and a littler slower.

Maybe you have to be born in a place to truly understand it. I never understood Wellington, but I think it understood me.

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