Gathan Beaga

this day

This day was much like every other. But each new day leaves memories. Some good, some bad, most boring and soon forgotten.

Straightening my back it popped and creaked. But my labour was not that of my father, and even less that of his father’s. Slaving over a coolly glowing LCD screen still doesn’t seem like an honest day’s work.

I had a phone call from home, with a cute kid story to keep me going. “Mum, I need some loud music. Can you put on ”http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/B000002MH5/“>Dinosaur Genie for me?” asked the four year old. Her mother complied, and she and her younger sister danced in the afternoon sun. Truly children of mine and my heart.

On Mairangi Road, an old man pushed his push mower through the first lush lawn of spring. The clippings sprayed his legs and the scent of the new mown grass reached into the bus as we swept around the corner.