rainclouds darkened the sky the morning of our departure, marking the end of so many days passed in spring sunlight
everything eventually fades
the day before, we’d ridden bicycles for four and a half hours, exploring the ribbon of trails through a corridor of green along the Avon
sunlight and tranquility
after the quakes whole neighbourhoods crumbled and remaining landscapes fell into zones deemed off limits for human inhabitation, allowing only nature to reclaim and resettle
all stories are impermanent
the river still winds and flows, pūkeko and black swans complementing its rippling grace, sedge and flax flourishing along its banks
birds don’t mind an absence of humans’ homes or driveways leading nowhere, their songs rise amid remains of once well loved gardens and wild seed growth between new stabilizer trees
denouement and emergence
we ride and ride and ride, read signs naming emptied cul de sacs, conjuring scenes of houses and fences and children—sounds of lives that once were
a melancholy, sobering parade
renewal flourishes and we mingle with the fabule establishment, voyeurs floating on wheels among muted ghosts still searching for taonga that might somehow have escaped the great rearrangement of order
