I write this outside on the floor of my old porch, wind tugging at
the trees, shadows playing on the grass. I moved into a new house
yesterday but there’s no internet there yet.
I am at one with the poet John Masefield whenever I visit Sydney, for I too must go down to the sea again. But it is not the lonely sea and the sky for which I yearn, quite the opposite actually.
I know of a different Christchurch. A Christchurch that isn’t all about either major earthquake, but one that is happy and peaceful.