Dawn

I stand on the deck at 6 AM as pink tinges the clouds near the horizon in the East. Between the clouds and me there are duelling roosters about a kilometre away. Cows in the paddock next door are quietly munching, sometimes blundering through the lupins, gently mooing or coughing.

To the South I can hear magpies, and cows just past the neighbour’s place, eating quietly.

To the West is the sea and a few gulls. Closer to the house I can hear my quail, one of them at least, who is calling Look At Me! Look At Me!

In the North I can hear some distant geese.

And all around the occasional singing of frogs.

I love waking up in this place.

Salmon clouds on the horizon.

I think this Silvereye must have been very young. It let me get very close this afternoon before flying away.

Small greenish bird on decking.

Spots before my eyes

In the last few years my eyes have been a little unpredictable — I feel as though I just can't see right. Frequent eye tests let me know I should be able to see just fine with my current glasses.

I value my sight, so my glasses are something I spend money on: high quality, high refraction index progressive lenses, with anti-reflective coating and rimless lightweight frames.

Today I finally realised: the problem may well be that although I treat my specs with great care the photochromic coating I’ve availed myself of in the last few years has become blotchy.

I can’t afford new glasses really but I dislike constantly feeling as though I can’t quite see right. I’m getting a quote for new daily specs, just the same as my current ones but not photochromic.

Later on maybe I’ll convert this frame to carry polarised lenses for sunny days.

A scratched and degraded lens on a pair of glasses.

Spinifex is wonderful stuff: it helps hold the sand dunes together and build new dunes. At this time of year the spiky seedheads are blown around by the wind, looking for a new home.

A cluster of spinifex seedheads by the track to the beach.

An overnight low of 5C is a bit of a shock to the system after a month or so of the temperatures never dropping below 15 or 20.

Graph showing suddenly plummeting temperatures.

I started the day feeling a bit overwhelmed with so many things to do. Now I’ve done a random bunch of smaller things and feel better. Whew. 😅

Hard to believe Ares and Aphra turn 16 tomorrow. Here’s the two of them at about 6 months sitting on the TV. Then Aphra in her ’pod’ and Ares on the couch. Such sweet cats. 🐈

Two very dark cats sitting upright beside each other, looking very shiny, with greenery in the background.
A dark cat in a cat bed.
A dark cat sitting on a red towel on a chair.

Well, good morning Moon. You may no longer be blood red, but you’re still super! Nice to see you after all that cloud.

Bright full moon above some trees.

Locals have done a grand job moving driftwood to protect young dunes and clumps of dune grasses from trailbikes and other vehicles.

Pieces of driftwood in front of beach grasses.
Dune Conservation Area sign with bare sand behind.
A small clump of spinifex surrounded by pieces of driftwood.

Landskein: the weaving & braiding of horizon lines

Sometime last year I came across a word to describe layers of misty mountains. Fabulous! I thought. I'll remember that. And promptly forgot it.

Today I finally found it again: landskein. Robert Macfarlane tells us:

Word of the day: “landskein” — the weaving & braiding of horizon lines, often seen most clearly on hazy days in hill country.

We look out on the Tararuas. I see landskein all the time.

Misty mountains in various layer, across land over which there is a layer of mist.
Screenshot of original tweet.

3 year old Ursula is a beautiful bonus at my generous host’s house. 🐈

Dark brown cat, with yellow eyes, on a chair.

I’m enjoying Rachel McAlpine’s Summer Writing School. Here we are at lunchtime enjoying the fresh air. Somehow I look much taller than Rachel, but it’s not that big a difference really.

Two women smiling at the camera.

I was telling someone about this fantastic 14 minute YouTube documentary today and nearly couldn't find it again — The Challenge of True Solitude:

You have to be at peace with the fact that something might happen, and you might not make it through,” says Alexandra de Steiguer, the caretaker for the Oceanic Hotel, in Brian Bolster’s short documentary, "Winter’s Watch." De Steiguer has spent the past 19 winters tending to the 43-acre grounds of the hotel, on Star Island, which sits 10 miles off the coast of New England. In the long, wintry off-season, she is the island’s sole inhabitant.

The rural life: this morning Scotty, the septic tank guy, stopped by to see why our tank’s warning light was on. Luckily it was an easy fix and I can try it myself next time (lift and drop the pipe).

This afternoon Murray from Campbell’s Water stopped in to service the pump for our bore (didn’t actually need a service, it turns out). He’ll give a quote for running a line from the bore to the house (50 metres) and putting in a tap outside for garden watering. He’ll also quote for supplying and installing a second rainwater tank. He also suggested I drill more holes in the pump cover box for better ventilation.

Septic tank.
Septic tank.

Stopped at a cafe and my Dark Skies T-shirt sparked a good conversation which even touched on the lunar eclipse on 31 January. 👍🏼 At least we can see stars here; too many people can’t.

Blue tshirt with a yin yang symbol and the text Because every day needs a night.

Sasha and I found a tennis ball on the beach this morning. It was too hot to chase it for long though.

Small black dog on the beach, panting by a tennis ball.

It’s good to see a mum hanging out with her kids. Monarch Butterfly and Swan Plant.

Monarch Butterfly on a plant.

Caterpillar.
Chrysalis.

This cute little Tauhou, Silver-Eye was stunned on the doorstep when I came home. After a few moments recovery it flew away happily. 🐦

Small bird in my hand.
Small bird on the ground.

Given the 27C heat today and anomalously warm sea temperatures I did something I never do and went for a “swim” (aka floating and bobbing around). It was actually rather fun. Kāpiti Island to the south.

Temperature reading from the weather station.
Kāpiti Island as seen from in the sea.

The Kuaka, Bartailed Godwits fly non-stop from the Arctic to feed during our summer. Some are kind enough to visit our beach.

4 godwits at the edge of the sea.
Close up on one godwit.