A Path of Roses
I have been giving new names to old places lately, Anne-like. I find it draws me into a closer and more empathic relationship with them. And so my neighbourhood has become to me Three Waters, due to its being situated, yes, between three bodies of water. Walking through Three Waters is very different from walking through the officially named neighbourhood. I could almost believe people here are charming and friendly (infact, some are) and that I happily belong here (I never will). Some days I even imagine a castle over the hill to the north, and that I might see a gallant knight riding the long road, taking roses to his lady, or patrolling against dragons.
I wonder if there are any other people in this country who dream their days into quiet magic. Probably not - especially not adults. Once we grow up, we must change our dreams from knights and roses to houses and cars and overseas holidays. But even children these days are asked to take on a new Anne spirit, bold and shrew and darkened by inescapable realities. It hurts my heart to know there are children growing up in New Zealand who will never hear about King Arthur, or how violets might be pieces of the sky, or that they even can imagine a castle over the hill, despite suburbia.