Auckland, Sunday morning. Drive to KareKare on the west coast 40 minutes from my house. This beach made famous for the location of the the film The Piano. Walking south around the headland to the brooding wetlands. No people, just the black sands, ancient cliffs and the boiling sea. Nothing could be further from concrete, steel and traffic, not to mention paralytic transport strikes on wet Parisian winter mornings. Sheltered under a tumbling rocky cliff face is this primaeval pool of dark water, home for generations of fallen pohutakawa trees, their branches locked in some death dance. Am I home?
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