I was on my deck in Oratia a few Sundays back. Some friends had turned up with a random pot full of steamed mussels steeped in white wine, and as we sat there watching the sun sink into the west, slipping mussels from their shells while sipping on a Stolen Kiss rosé and some crafty Tuataras (no, not the reptiles), I realised that summer had finally decided to turn up. That particular day had included a precious moment on my daughter’s deck enveloped in sunshine and grandkids, morphing into a bit of relaxed but constructive building, followed by the eminently satisfying mussels, and then a trip just up the road to expand the group and conversational options further over a round of vino and cheese. Everywhere, you could feel the lift in spirits, courtesy of a dreamy resonance engendered by the golden blanket of shiny stillness that had draped itself over the land. It felt like people were expelling a slow breath they’d been holding onto all winter.
