From my office in Wellington I look out over the bus station, commuters busily weaving between each other to find the right bus; getting on, climbing off. Just past the bus station is the train station where there happens more of the same: surges of bodies entering and leaving, choosing a footpath, following its way into the city. And beyond that? The harbour, quiet today and bluer than then cloudless sky overhead. Beyond? The Tararua ranges: a green wall on the horizon, their dramatic rise from the water covered in pine and giant fern. Between here and the hills--my world, my scenic world--are a thousand ideas, a thousand conversations; a thousand quick glances from the girl in the Saturday blouse; a thousand shouts, a thousand moments leaning against the window waiting for someone to wander by.
Jacket in hand, I quickly grab the iPod and sunglasses and head for the door, and before the sun hits me, I choose the song for the rest of the afternoon.
Comments