14 March 2007

14 March


A blast of southern air blew across New Zealand, chilling the country from Bluff Hill to Cape Reinga. And while it isn't winter, per se, the shift in weather was a very convincing argument of what is, inevitably, to come. Some weeks ago, during the last dry days of Wellington's Indian summer, Jamie had the rare foresight to order a shipment of firewood. It arrived today. When Jamie, Ami, and Nick arrived home there, in a pile before the garage, was three cubic metres of wood, a mixture of dense macracarpa and softer pine. One perfect for catching from fuel as thin as newspaper; the other slow-burning, letting go so gradually embers glow still at 6am, when Jamie's alarm sounds.

It takes the three of them a mere 30 minutes to move the wood from the driveway and into the wood shed. With each armful, their heads fill with ideas for the first fire of the season. Jamie dreams of pumpkin soup and apple cider. Ami imagines the easy comfort of slipping on a woolly jumper and knitting a few lines in front of the blaze. Nick thinks of women. Nick usually thinks of women, which is why he and Jamie get along so well.

After dinner (Nick cooked quiche), the three of them sit around the new fire and talk about religion, time, quantum entanglement (briefly), New Zealand cinema, and ukuleles. They talked like they had not spoken for weeks; like they were newly alight; like it had been a year since the air had felt so clean.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

chop wood, carry water

Anonymous said...

I think I have a ukuleles lying around the house somewhere. My dad owns a banjo from his academic days which has labels on it to show the barkeep what you want when you're too drunk to order it yourself ("Another pint of Guiness")

I hate moving firewood, but nowdays we get it in sacks. The first comment was referring to Zen, but I don't think moving already cut wood counts as enlightenment. :p

Anonymous said...

I have your grandmother's ukulele at my house. You can have it if you would like. It's a pretty low quality piece & will need to be restrung, but the history & memories (at least your dad's & mine) associated with it is undeniable.