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Anne Curran – New Zealand

Summer Destination

Early one December morning, my mother circled an advertisement for a holiday bach at Muriwai beach. The bach was a white, wooden cottage set back in the midst of lush bush. From there, it was a short walk along the main road to a beach with dangerous surf and an endless stretch of sticky black sand.

In long summer evenings, I accompanied my father with his surfcasting rod to a rocky outcrop at the end of the beach. I watched him bait and throw his line, and then climbed to the crest of the hill behind the rocks to breathe in the view. Other evenings, I walked the beach.

miles on miles
of sand to walk on
promise of sunset

I was entranced by a pottery shop. It was nestled into the bush tacked onto a bach. It showed the work of Peter Sinclair, a popular New Zealand broadcaster. His pottery was sold by his mother. As story goes, sales went down one day when an elderly tourist died at the shop, and his body was temporarily left covered on the front lawn.

scrimping coins
from pockets –
a Madonna souvenir


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