I visited the Meridian Wind Farm at Makara yesterday.  There was wind to farm – plenty of it, and even some maintenance high in the howling wind – a man with a job I am glad not to have.

the man with a job
I am glad not to have
climbed the innards of
a wind turbine
to carry our repairs
on the outside
as the wind off the strait
pummeled the land
and the forest of trees with
any unnecessary branches
already snapped off
invited me in
to inform me
that I belong

More from Porters Pass

entry: an uninspiring catchment of matagouri-clad hillside with all routes demanding up
negotiation: taking the ‘wrong’ track, arriving at the noisy roadside, no obvious way anywhere to what you thought you were here for
grunt: the bugger-it determination to clamber up a steep thorn infested bank in the hope of something more
relief: a fence, a cleared path, distance from the noise of car and truck
release: the first patch of downhill after an hour or more on the walk
wonder: the surprise of an enchanting beech forest with lichen-clad branches, birdsong, stillness, no sign of orcs
exit: another layer to our being mates, companionable conversation, companionable silence, tired legs, late afternoon light, the discovery that what was uninspiring was my initial attitude

the hills say little

Morning Cloud On Lindis Ridge

the hills say little
if all goes well
my presence here
will not be noticed
the hills continue
the ancient business
of being

yet their beauty shines
and is on offer
whether I care
to notice
or not
whether I am here
or not

the invitation
is simply
to respond
to what
they offer

they don’t speak much
except by responding
to my noticing
by saying
what they said
when I first arrived

you’re welcome

martin stewart
Lindis Ridge February 2016