July moods

So, for this post, I'll try to upload the diverse moods of the sea.  Thursday was an exquisite evening.  That unbelievable feeling of stresses of the city and the trip and the demands of preparing for a meeting at the Whangaroa Museum, just draining away and not mattering at all.  A heightened awareness of sounds and smells and the sensations of nature at its finest.  Solitude (except for Fitzy), the murmurs of the gentle surf and the rippling creek, and the rustle of goodness-knows-what during the night.  Time stands still in a way, in the bach which has always been.  The bach at the edge of the lagoon.  You can reach out and touch the sea, the horizon and the stars.  And the people who've been here before us.  

Well, then on Friday evening it had started to rain, and in true Northland fashion, it didn't stop.  Saturday morning, the rain continued and the sea was up, rolling in across the rocks.  And the tide was getting high.  So I tackled the 'high 

road' in gumboots and coat, with spare clothes (in case I couldn't get back after the meeting) and papers wrapped in a black sak.  The paddock was soggy and a bit of slithering happened on the way out the gate.  The creeks and rivers were all brown, and the tide on the way in.  After the meeting, four hours later, still raining.  Not a downpour, but just sheets of rain drifting across the valleys.  Continuous.  

So I decided to abandon ship.  Back to the bach to pack up, and tho it was low tide theoretically, the lagoon was swollen full, 

bloated brown, the surf also slick and heavy with silt, and ready to sweep across the sandspit yet again, despite the best efforts of mere people to stop it.  

Haven't heard yet about the damage inflicted on this round, the the beach and the bach have withstood storms for a while, and no doubt will continue to do so.