Helicopter

SOC Writing _ 2.4.21

Helicopter

In the lane that leads to the pad, where my argoga once landed I am panting – I know this piece of dirt so well, it is where I am at my last and know I can forge the final few meters until my breath is spent and I am at the gate fumbling with the complex lock. Into the wide yonder I speed - legs moving at my heart rhythm pace. Gentle running’s I call my troop – not to get anywhere fast but for the pure joy and enjoyment of the run – what beauty I can behold as I move at speed upon this epic terrain. Flood waters once rose where I depart – their ancient fossils glinting shell white at my passing by – this whenua was of great significance to my becoming – the roads around this farm have held me in great stead while I worked out my feelings about being human – a great salve in time of dire distress – this waxing years from 13-30 where everything is tumult – the insides heaving with what they do not know – the control wrested from my grasp and the 5 year old boy trying, trying to get what he wants to no avail. The land where my father dropped tons of NPK is still my homeland – I would weep to see that assembly of hills and pines in the distance – to see the sun set cold in the winter afternoon over it’s shoulders - to note the sheep moving through gates and the ant-like dogs way below moving like the black insects they are at that vantage. Then the fires of home – the permanent knowledge that my mother will without fail put food on the table and all I need do is arrive, appreciate it in some small gesture and help clean up – it was a gifted youth – and not without its pain – but here – the helicopter hill gave me its strength – was able to bide me up – bandage my wounds and send me forward to meet another day on the school bus – another moment of injustice at the Christian school – so all in all I came out winning – me, my legs, my running shoes and a land that was totally my place to stand.