At last I can hear the silence, the gaps between my thoughts; at last I can hear my pulse and the incongruent roar of a lawn mower in the distance. The past few weeks had been a chaotic blur, an eventful holiday that I involuntarily participated in. The best part was visiting Wellington after thirteen years and falling in love with the mountains, once again. Hutt Valley is a beautiful place, each time one looked out of a window of a house or a car, the blue green mountains smiled back at you. The mountains offer a sense of protection or ‘sheltered-ness’ that I cannot explain. Living in a valley is such I suppose. Then there was the raging wind, the blue spotless skies, the Hutt River that flowed across town and a feeling of déjà vu, wherever we went. A lot of things had changed. I could not find the house we lived in as it had been demolished. But the street was more or less the same only made smaller by my grown up eyes. The school was painted a different colour and looked more modern. The library was nearly unrecognizable from the garden entrance we took, but I spotted the birdcage at the back. I wonder what life would be today if we continued to live there for the past thirteen years. I suppose I would not be who I am today. Who knows whether that’s good or bad?
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