tame flowers sit in glass and ceramic vessels, a demure display. they're simply arranged, logical order of height to best advantage. they sit for five days before being whisked away and swiftly replaced.
water drops gather on the window, spilling down, forming countless shapes. condensation forms inside, sympathy heart traced in, matching the shapes. the window's open, now, and the glass clears. the heart fades, looks half-broken.
the morning is dark, cotton-candy fog hanging over the city. through the fog, lights glow. well and truly entranced, i inhale the sweet air. someone is burning pine. as i get in the car, i wish you were here.
icicles hang from the branches, arching them down, stooped and slowly aged. the trees stand close, tall and hiding a multitude of secrets in earth. a final tree is selected, photographed and left to stand alone.
i set my clock by the times at which the sun and moon rise above me. i rise with the sun when its light breaks in through the curtains, waking me. at night, i watch for the moon rising, late as it always seems to be.
water lilies trapped under a glass lid, floating in water, preserved. a panoply of flowers line a window-sill, each tinted new shades. summer comes and the water evaporates, leaves the blossoms wilting.
ostentatious red pohutakawa blossoms appearing; late spring. thin needles scatter all over the car, drifting in cool summer wind. before christmas comes the red's faded; the tui finds elsewhere to sing.
flame peeks over the log of wood, nearly ignites - false alarm, try soon. tentative, i prod at the wood barely charred yet - add on more paper. engulfed now, the flame comes to life, throwing shadows all over the room.
unpack in a new house, start making yourself at home: alone, so far. live there long enough, you feel ghosts of past dwellers pass you in the hall. make your home yours, quick: the ghosts aren't graceful about letting new ones in.
flowers on a vine crawl up a trellis, weighed down with delicate buds. earth dark under my fingernails, embedded in fabric: a prelude. sunlight, together with the ocean view, long paths: possibility.