A SHORT WALK only happens when measured in distance, How long it takes is another matter entirely. When we leave the house, we never know what we will see, hear and tell. I carry my little green bags for 'doggie purposes and of course for my 'collectables.'
Bits of driftwood, contorted into fantastic shapes by water, time and sand, find their way home, sometimes just a little too big. I would .love to drag the large trunks, that have witnessed many storms and travelled from the distant hills behind the town, tumbling along flooded streams turned to torrents, before finding a temporary resting spot on a beach. I usually settle for their smaller brothers and sisters. Sometimes, I even find their cousins from the past ... shiny pieces of Kauri Gum tossed upon the high-tide mark or buried amongst the detritus lying in banks on the beach.
We never go far without meeting people. Some are mirroring our morning activity ... just getting out-and-about. Not all walk with the pace of yester-years, utilizing walking-sticks and shuffling gently along the footpaths. They may not walk on the beach, when the sea has delivered or uncovered large rocks, replacing the smooth sand from the day before, then on the following day spreading a different vista in an ever-changing pattern.
Sometimes the people we meet are familiar. I may remember their names, but often it takes many meetings before I remember. Perdy has a way of introducing herself, and once met, she always knows. A sniff is all it takes; a pat on her head cements the relationship. Next time it's a stretch up, seeking a more intimate connection.
Conversations flow, with Perdy sitting patiently ... up to a point ... stories are offered and heard. Days gone by are reintroduced, as if they were yesterday, families, friends and events recalled, sad and joyful. Time flows, before moving on, sometimes for minutes, before another memory is painted in words and images. There is a commonality, a union of ideas. The time we take is not important ... on most days we have it in abundance. Perhaps a medical appointment beckons or a visitor is due, but for the most part, there is a rhythm to the day that precludes rushing.
Sometimes Perdy lets me know that I have reached my allotment of stories for the walk. There will be other walks, more people, another beach ... but now it is time for us to move on. Yes, Perdy wishes us to move down the beach, looking for stones, gems and the flotsam that we have both come to love. There's always plenty of time for 'walking, talking
and gems!
Bits of driftwood, contorted into fantastic shapes by water, time and sand, find their way home, sometimes just a little too big. I would .love to drag the large trunks, that have witnessed many storms and travelled from the distant hills behind the town, tumbling along flooded streams turned to torrents, before finding a temporary resting spot on a beach. I usually settle for their smaller brothers and sisters. Sometimes, I even find their cousins from the past ... shiny pieces of Kauri Gum tossed upon the high-tide mark or buried amongst the detritus lying in banks on the beach.
We never go far without meeting people. Some are mirroring our morning activity ... just getting out-and-about. Not all walk with the pace of yester-years, utilizing walking-sticks and shuffling gently along the footpaths. They may not walk on the beach, when the sea has delivered or uncovered large rocks, replacing the smooth sand from the day before, then on the following day spreading a different vista in an ever-changing pattern.
Sometimes the people we meet are familiar. I may remember their names, but often it takes many meetings before I remember. Perdy has a way of introducing herself, and once met, she always knows. A sniff is all it takes; a pat on her head cements the relationship. Next time it's a stretch up, seeking a more intimate connection.
Conversations flow, with Perdy sitting patiently ... up to a point ... stories are offered and heard. Days gone by are reintroduced, as if they were yesterday, families, friends and events recalled, sad and joyful. Time flows, before moving on, sometimes for minutes, before another memory is painted in words and images. There is a commonality, a union of ideas. The time we take is not important ... on most days we have it in abundance. Perhaps a medical appointment beckons or a visitor is due, but for the most part, there is a rhythm to the day that precludes rushing.
Sometimes Perdy lets me know that I have reached my allotment of stories for the walk. There will be other walks, more people, another beach ... but now it is time for us to move on. Yes, Perdy wishes us to move down the beach, looking for stones, gems and the flotsam that we have both come to love. There's always plenty of time for 'walking, talking
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