After many years of living in the shadows and shelter of a Dunedin valley, this year finds me perched on the slopes of sunny Opoho with a bird's-eye view of Northeast Valley below.
Funny how things happen.
Having quickly sold our home and not yet found a worthy long-term replacement, we have bought in the meantime a tiny two-bedroomed cottage that we first rented 37 years ago when we settled in Dunedin in our 20s.
Not surprisingly, this change in perspective has heightened my senses in more ways than one.
I am spellbound by the view from the cottage veranda, a stark contrast to living on the flat.
The Northeast Valley floor with its church steeples and early morning hum of a waking suburb sweeps up the steep bush-clad slopes of Pine Hill, dotted with flowering kanuka and topped with former state houses and the occasional character villa.
On the skyline looms the familiar outline of Flagstaff, Swampy Summit and Mt Cargill.
There is something to be said for taking in a view from a vantage point.
It does get you pondering, which is what Samuel Johnson was possibly alluding to when he mused that "distance has the same effect on the mind as on the eye''.
Many parts of hilly Dunedin have networks of steps where vehicle access is limited.
Often, they are hidden away and little used by the public.
Opoho has its fair share of steps leading you down in zigzag fashion to the valley below and these have proved a delight to discover and explore.
The relative peacefulness of the hillside is contrasted with the busyness of the valley with its Gardens shopping centre and continuous traffic along North Rd including the steady stream of tourists attracted to a particularly steep street.
Northeast Valley does quietly fascinate me.
From the observation point on my sunny porch, as I ponder the stream of life that we glide along (Dr Johnson's metaphor, not mine), it's not too difficult to pick out buildings in the long stretch of North Rd that once operated as shops, hotels and industrial concerns more than a century ago.
The valley has been a thriving community since the days it was a separate borough and surprisingly its population is not too much larger than it was in the 1880s.
And what strikes me most as a relative outsider is how vibrant and diverse this Northeast Valley community is today.
Probably the most visible example that caught my eye is the Valley Project with its community rooms in the grounds of Northeast Valley Normal School.
I hope this government-funded community-led development project continues to be supported.
Its free community newsletter, the Valley Voice, is packed with stories of community initiatives happening year round. Even the community cop has his say, with tips to keep the neighbourhood safe.
Up in the top field of the school grounds can be found the community garden.
I recently strolled up to this idyllic spot with its peaceful rural vista of the valley and hills opposite.
Well ordered rows of in-season vegetables greeted me - a bounty richly deserved from the hard work put in by community working bees.
If you are in need of a bike fix, the Valley Community Workspace in a garage at the end of Allen St looks like a great place to hang out with like minds into sustainable energy, self-reliance and skill-sharing.
And tucked away down the far end of the valley, in Bonnington St, is the beginning of another hard-working community group, a skill-sharing workspace initiative calling itself the North Dunedin Shed - and it's not just for blokes they tell me.
Anybody diagnosed with "underfoot syndrome'' will be most welcome.
So there is certainly much happening down in the valley if you want to be part of it.
I often wonder at the energy and commitment that community-minded people put into their neighbourhoods to help those in need while others are happy to sit on the sidelines or disengage altogether.
Meanwhile, I'll continue to enjoy the new perspective that sitting on the porch of a tiny Opoho cottage has brought me.
There can be some nostalgic satisfaction in returning to a home of your younger days.
The large ash tree in front of me no longer cradles the tyre swing that our two preschool daughters delighted in 37 years ago and there is no sign of the farmlet in the Maybank Estate on Evans St where my widowed great-grandmother used to eke out a living more than a century ago.
There is something about the stream of life that's worth ruminating on.
● Tony Eyre is a Dunedin writer.
