You watch my morning walk
impassively.
You have had your moment
of devastating excitement
when hot lava poured from you
and you lost your head.
You have your story of pain
overgrown with lush nature
smothering your scars.
I have mine
hidden too.
Your story is woven in heritage.
Mine is just beginning to be told,
as I find fresh words to wrap around it.
We share something else significant.
We are both out in the morning rain.
Rangitoto and I
stare at each other.
A dark green cloak hides its brokenness.
Mine is covered by a black jacket.
It's peaceful stance belies its former raging
throwing ash and sulfur into the night sky.
So attention seeking.
I stare but it doesn't look away.
I think it likes me.
We are too far away to start a conversation
but I may visit again in time.
It has its own secrets,
but it looks into my soul and I feel I should explain.
I have been uprooted, shifted,
transplanted to a different plane of existence.
The short walk to the hospital
belies the significance of the treatment.
It seems so easy to lie down
under the machine's power
that does me good and harm simultaneously
I tell Rangitoto.
I touched Rangitoto some years back
my tourist footsteps journeyed without cultural understanding.
I saw its shape broken by the force
of its own life leaving.
Life has these moments
when you want to break free
from the rhythm of pre-ordained appointments
measured in minutes and radiation released.
Rangitoto understands me.
We are both broken but beauty will cover us.
Sunshine rays hit a little patch of blue
in front of the island.
They touch me too
as I spend time with Rangitoto in the rain.
