I watch as a young dog, tongue flying, launches herself off the pavement and into the path of an oncoming car. Suspended in mid-leap she embodies all that so delights us about dogs: an aliveness to every fresh-minted, fresh-scented moment, unencumbered by fear of the future, or regret for the past.
It’s an ordinary morning in Mapua. The traffic flows by at an amiable village-by-the-seaside pace. At the café, locals and visitors relax with coffees in the early autumn sunshine. There’s a bit more of a bustle than usual at the local hall where the inaugural Mapua Literary Festival is happening today. Magaret Mahy, NZ’s favourite children’s author is special guest.
I’m on volunteer door-duty extracting $2 from adults, waving children in for free. The money goes into a plastic container which once held hokey pokey ice-cream. The smell of fresh muffins wafts from the hall kitchen. One child arrives dressed as a very un-ferocious tiger. Another child is a wood nymph with a circlet of flowers on her head. How lovely the day is.
I’m on volunteer door-duty extracting $2 from adults, waving children in for free. The money goes into a plastic container which once held hokey pokey ice-cream. The smell of fresh muffins wafts from the hall kitchen. One child arrives dressed as a very un-ferocious tiger. Another child is a wood nymph with a circlet of flowers on her head. How lovely the day is.
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