A narrow winding gravel road,
Eleven kilometres out of sixteen,
A twisting narrow gravel road
And yellow clay on either side.
The thunder clouds hover overhead,
The lightning flashes
through the hills
And skims across the sea, green-black clouds
That touch pohutakwa branches,
Dark red flashes, heavy drops of rain,
Then frozen pellets pelting down the cliffs.
A narrow winding gravel road,
Barren yellow cliffs, bleak rocks and troubled sea.
The tires crunch around the bend, blind bends,
Beside the hidden coast, under the rumble of the
sky.
Above the frozen wind, the clouds hover,
Motionless and silent, until a slice of light
Cracks the afternoon in pieces, shatters
Rain and hail to tiny prisms in the trees,
And silence slithers down the gullies, cold
With shame, as though the kauri-carts
Were filled with fresh-dug gum again.
The pavement reaches out from under the moistened
dust
And grasps the tires, spins them softly into speed,
And hurls our apprehension forward—lurch
And grasp of sudden equanimity.
The summer’s early evening heat returns
And the bright pohutakawa nods in gentle dreams.
Excellent visuals!
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