The Wind whispers

Poets and storytellers united  invited us to write about a body of water, real or fictional, that holds a special place in your heart.

Lyttelton harbour is beautiful and special. Every week we walk in the hills above  and we end up at The Sign of the Kiwi for coffee. The cafe is a place of laughter and chatter. Eric, the owner, passed away recently and therefore this poem is for him.

Lyttelton harbour

Sign of the Kiwi

The Wind whispers

We follow the path to the summit,
where the rim of the old volcano
opens to breathless views
of Lyttelton Harbour.

The picture is ever-changing:
misty clouds drifting over the inlet,                        
blue and green hues
dancing across the water.

The Port Hills keep watch
over these sacred waters.
The Sign of the Kiwi
rests like a crown upon the ridge.

The wind whispers its secrets.
Arrival and departure,
it says,
are not separate.

They meet
in every remembered smile,
every story retold,
every kindness passed on.

Look, the trees still cradle
droplets of yesterday's rain.
The air still carries
echoes of laughter,
of Eric,
l'âme de la fête.

So let us celebrate
life and rain,

for water,
like his kindness,
is life-giving nourishment,
falling freely,
asking nothing in return.

The banter,
the laughter,
the generous spirit
of a Frenchman sustained us.

Now it is ours to carry forward.