Fennel. Fennel is back. Its feathery limbs sparkle with overnight dew. The humid air has fed it so well the wildflowers planted two summer's ago could barely suppress the avenging bulbs. The still un-blooming pōhutukawa watches from the other side of the fence, a strategic waiter on the cliff's edge. Far below, a train sounds like gunfire on the tracks. Trailers laden with tents and umbrellas and camp chairs breeze along the motorway behind coast-bound cars.

I am not going anywhere. I am staying to meet the blackbird with the orange beak in the eye, holding on fiercely to this singular moment of time, this small patch of my life, on the eve of Departures, making a commitment to be the one who stays and waits. Hardier than fennel. Giving them a run for their pungent money.

It's easy from this vantage point of the Gregorian year to see all the things we didn't do. The promises betrayed. The tasks unfulfilled, the emails left on seen. Much harder to forgive ourselves with humour. Easier to fall into self-loathing and shame than to reject colonial training that wants us to believe that the only solution to discomfort is to work harder and earn more.

Loathing that obsesses about faults that only we can see in ourselves is a particular affliction. Cringing is a deeply personal, private affair. Reflexivity is healthy, but only in balance. Lately, I've started to think that if living with a little bit of self-loathing is necessary to reject ego's impulse towards perfection, maybe I should accept it without shame. In this light, the radical part of self-acceptance sounds a lot like humility. No, we didn't achieve everything we set out to. Yes, we were shit sometimes. Of course we could have done better, been better.

But so could the circumstances. So could others.

The most important thing is, we're still here. Wildflowers in soil ravaged by roots that have no inclination to share, clinging on, strategic waiters, releasing each other from any other obligation other than to Just Keep Breathing. That's it. Lean with the wind. Look the blackbird with the orange beak in the eye. Feel those roots digging in and holding on.

We're alive. We're still here. We live, we live.

A postscript: Written this morning, partly reflecting on the fact that my attention to this blog is one of the things I feel frustrated and annoyed at myself about. I love and appreciate this space so much, but I failed at writing regularly for so many reasons, both understandable and forgivable. One of them is a self-conscious awareness that attention has become an economy and I deeply value your time. I didn't want (and still don't) to publish in a mindset that is purely transactional. Even after four years, I'm still working out what it means to create and curate a space like this, as blogs and newsletters continues to evolve and change.

Regardless, I wanted to say a huge summer WELCOME to all the new subscribers in the past few months. Thank you for being here and reading. To those who've been with me since the start, or joined in the last few years, I appreciate you all. I am particularly grateful to those who have been able to support me financially. I know that times are tougher than ever and often renewing subs has to be the first thing to go. This year, more than any other, I've relied on the income from this blog and so please accept my deepest sincerest thanks.

I'm still here. You're still there. Which means there's still time!

Arohanui, friends, I appreciate you all. xxx

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