While watching the golf, I noticed the grasshoppers, daddy-long-legs, dragonflies and skylarks. (Skylarks appear to like golf courses). I kept picturing the place as it used to be; peaceful and lonely ...
Of course, to the insects and birds, nothing has changed. They still go about their business, despite the crowds following swinging golf clubs, temporary tents selling gold watches and BMWs encroaching on terrain they inhabit and feed off. It put me in mind of accounts of birds singing in the middle of war - of how soldiers on the battlefields could hear them still singing above the tumult of gunfire.
A bunker-like sandpit for the children. Not that were many children there. Pretty boring place for children, a golf course, I'd imagine. Especially when they hold up the 'Quiet Please' sign.
Near Alexandra on our way home. New Zealand's equivalent of a desert (rocks and sheep). I find this bare, rocky aspect very appealing. There is a poem in 'made for weather' in which I try to capture something of this.
A western sky suggests
the promise of air loosely tethered
and space and light. Of breath
the pleat of mountains.
Warm wind through wire.
Of opening out
an accordion of sun.
Kay McKenzie Cooke