But spring doing its thing during a personal winter can be jarringly incongruous. Perky bulbs and blousy blossoms rub it in. External cheeriness contrasts with internal sadness; there’s a touch of bitterness.
Pink fluffiness, chirping birdies mating desperately, a feverish instinct to duplicate oneself. Who would have thought that spring could actively grot you off?
Native bush, an ever-present, reliable friend.
Veer off the road between Waianakarua and Herbert, and there it is, ready to receive you.
If you prefer your steps to be uphill, go clockwise.
The track starts off with so few natives and so many pest plants that you wonder whether tipuna would recognise the place as New Zealand. Growth increases its native quotient until, bodaciously, a massive rimu prongs skywards.
Marvelling, I was distracted by incoming footsteps. "Another person!", I greeted them. They responded, "I feel as if I’m miles away but I’ve just turned off State Highway 1. It’s incredible."
Tree ferns and mature broadleaf thrive. Epiphytic ferns grow in mahoe trees.
It’s heartening. Our instinct to conserve may often come at the end of a dirty old plundering but the instinct can pay dividends.
Sometimes the surroundings aren’t so glam but there’s novelty value in feeling like a stubby sheep navigating through tall gorse forest. This is a walk through multiple mini worlds.
You can tell it could have made a perfectly cosy overnighter.
The ending is announced by the warm oily smell of eucalyptus leaf crushed underfoot and their leafy up-highness touched by the wind.
External forces have their way.
Loss is normal.
Spring reminds us that so is renewal, larger than each of our little lives.
The delight of encountering a smiling spring lamb up the road says it all.
