letters from the road; coots

Others take snapshots with their cameras; little itty bitty point and clicks, old fashion films, disposable wind ups, big ass professionals with tripods etc. I take my snapshots between my fingers, with my little trusty blackberry using words.

The sea is bright blue, a kind of electric brilliant blue, not even aqua marine. We are in a boat, sailing through the Milford sounds, on the top deck. The sun’s out to play, and I am loving the shadows they cast on the deck. I’m the only one sitting down; inciting a lot of stares but it doesn’t bother me. The rest of them are hanging around the rails. Everytime the boat gives a lurch they all stagger like drunks and I snigger into my scarf and no one can see me.

The cliffs are harsh, almost vertical. And these beautiful trees that cling to its sides for dear life. I like the milford sounds better than the doubtful sounds. Which are -in correction of my earlier post- really fjords, not sounds. They are named wrongly. Fjords are created by glacier action on rocks. These are Fjords.

There’s this old couple from Hokitika on board with us. He wears a hearing aid and has crow lines on his face. He’s smiley though he doesn’t talk to us and gives a light blush whenever I direct comments his way. His partner is twice his size and wonderfully chatty. She tells me how this is her first trip to the sounds. And how she is not liking the cold either. They are very affectionate with each other for old people. A lot of whispering and giggling and cuddling. He walks off to look around then comes back and sits with her, kiss her cheek, press repeat. It is almost as if he walks around juz so he can kiss her cheek.

she calls him “her old coot”; she doesn’t refer to him as her husband, but her partner. Religion aside, It really doesn’t matter; the only difference between the two is for the lawyers to debate. There is clearly love here; and I hope these two stay this way as long as they shalt live.

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my world, out of your reach

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