As we swept around the corner the moon started rising over the hills ahead. It was stunningly beautiful, this large harvest moon, limned against a darkening purple sky.
We were driving back from the Bic Runga concert, coming into that long valley back road between Martinborough and Gladstone. If there was a place in the North Island that I had to live forever, it would be here: lightly native wooded hills, deep valleys full of bush, clean pastures, and a perfect building platform on every ridge you pass. And not over developed, either; just another country area with a few farms and the occasional vineyard.
I expect the people here are too canny to subdivide (if I had a thousand acres here I would be too) so it’s just a dream. But a nice one. This yellow moon makes it sing (a Neville Brothers’ song).