Greetings from storm-braced Tāmaki Makaurau. So far so good; this was the looming look of things last night.
We have not yet felt the house shake or heard the wind just absolutely roar the way I remember Bola. But let’s see what lies ahead. We sit in a relatively sheltered spot half way up a volcanic cone and on enough of a slope that water tends to run like the river to the sea and into the path of the ten million vehicles that drive in and out of the seaside village each day.
Yes, I’m using the words of a U2 song to make cars the emblem of the harm we persist in doing ourselves even in the face of turmoil.
