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Kaipara - Written in 1995
The day we walked around the Kaipara
It was just eight years ago and we were there to count the birds.
We'll not forget that day - the sky was grey,
And grey the sea, a reflection of the storm to come.
The air was still as we climbed toward the beach watching the sea
Unroll along the shore.
The seabirds wheeled, dived, cried, in never ending motion
And we did ponder a little about the count of such a multitudinous host.
As if the count, good health, weather, and such freedom to walk
and friends so close there seemed no need to talk
Were not enough; we saw ahead a grey calm bay slip into sight, and there
the view we'd come to see.
Birds in their habitate - running, climbing, diving, pecking
Wheeling, swooping all day winging above the water as
though they feared some pending slaughter.
The count began - 300 there - 1000 more - our minds did spin and
wonder how such a count could hold when never still, the birds
did wheel, peel, swoop, and dive with nere a stop.
But still the count went on.
We had our lunch sitting a upon a mound looking west across
the harbour. Dark clouds gathered quickly as we watched
the distant thunder spoke and yet we sat, watched cloud, tussock and gull.
One more delight - one more count - and then w'ere done.
Our friends continued with their count and we sat under the tussock to
Escape the storm of wind and rain which struck with force and suddenness.
Ink black the clouds over head and thunder rolls ever closer hardly
spoilt our time together. We laughed, at ourselves, at the count, and marvelled at
the beauty we had found there upon the shore.
The odour of fish and brine among the tussock of a wild and simple beauty
Held our minds, but this, the sharpest memory of that day
was the smile my Robin gave to me.
Today a new bird sings - a tui has found its home amongst the Kauri and his
bell clear call rings out all day - He sings his song for all to hear.
The Kaipara River moves on and we have peace.
THE KAIPARA RIVER VALLEY
Claude Buchanan - January 2004
Look West across the Kaipara River Valley
in that time just before sun rise.
The light is soft. The air damp and still.
The quickening light reveals
Grey mist like a giant shroud swirling from the hollows
and thrusting skyward through this encroaching cloud can be seen,
Sentinel trees stark and sable against the grey,
guarding the approach to the valley.
Small mounds of green rise and are covered again as the billowing cloud rolls
across the dank fields.
Nothing can be seen of the homes which are scattered throughout the valley,
but the occasional light cast dimly through the retreating gloom
tells us that life is stirring.
No sound but the voice of cattle plodding their way to milking.
To the East a halo of light from the rising sun can be seen beyond the
darkness of the trees.
The pervading light creeps slowly across the branches
shimmering with still held dew.
Mist is not often seen in this area and images are sharper,
more clearly defined in hues of Sable, Argent, and Or.
Birds are heard in chorus amidst the trees greeting the new day.
A tui calls from his top tree point with wondrous clarity and beauty of sound.
Pheasant and quail cry in chorus throughout the valley.
No movement of air disturbs this quiet gentle scene.
The smell of bush and air caress the senses.
With joy one greets the morn.
Scudding across the Western sky
Long grey clouds obscure and then reveal windows of azure and there
A lone hawk glides in seemingly effortless flight across the valley.
Wood pigeons swoop elegantly towards the Puriri tree where
Ungainly amongst the branches,
their breasts flashing argent in the soft emerging light,
they seek the succulent red berry.
Groups of ducks wing in V toward the emerging sun.
Close by the small grey warbler can be heard gentle amongst the bushes.
Such beauty, such visions, such stillness,
evokes ones spirit and helps clear the mind from nightly rest,
Such stuff is in immortal dreams.
Such stuff in the Kaipara - is a reality of delight and perfection.
The rain has steadied
lightened a little,
the sun low in the sky
begins to reflect the flowing waters,
serpent like, argent wrinkled, in the elder sun.
The waters flowed ore the verdant pasture
In a snake like feeding frenzy
silent it swirled across the flats,
into the hollows, raising its argent head
to swallow the vert mounds
in a cascade of tumultuous joy.
The Sable tarmac road viewed no longer
replaced by a disastrous scene
in this once placid vert valley
We stood and watched this changing view
from our warm enclosed living room.
Snug above the valley, we saw all
behind a smile and a glass of wine
Next day the rains had ceased.
The ebb tide now was ore
the argent waters a murky brown
the banks sable once more.
The pasture vert unseen
A newly birthed lake squatted across the fields
like a giant brown jellyfish
tentacles array.
A day on, and the water has begun to release its hold
upon the land.
The lake has shrunk
The banks -
still gripped in slime and broken branches.
The flood -
now ebbing.
The serpent -
sated
Its argent wrinkles gone from the valley.
The smirr falls in irregular pattern
without malice.
Argent - silver / Smirr - light rain / Sable - black / Vert - green
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