Wednesday, February 11, 2026

Otago Peninsula

I arrived yesterday afternoon, through pouring rain from Milford Sound. Sylvia was my Airbnb host and luckily for me, she was as happy for my company as I was for hers, so we played scrabble and drank elderflower tea all evening. I'll always remember her as the lady who cared enough to try and fix my cough, taught me how to Wordle and had the most encouraging words on finding love and happiness later in life. 

Pity she is about to be overshadowed. LOL  Because today my heart and lens were to be filled with glorious wildlife experiences and honestly there is nothing I like more!

Driving out to the far reaches of Otago Peninsula, I went in search of Sandfly Bay. Here, rumor had it, was the place to find sealions. And I did!

The trail down the cliff and over the dunes is breathtaking. And worth it. Before I even reached the bottom there was a lazy sealion sleeping in the middle of my path, causing detours. On the beach 2 younger (or 2 females?) were cavorting. A photographers dream.

The arrival of an older male made it even better. So I spent another hour just "being" and watching them.

I had booked a Little Blue penguin tour for the after-dark portion of today and this afternoon went looking for where the meeting point would be later. Turns out it meets at the same place you'd go for a Royal Albatross experience ... so I booked that for 6pm. (Note: Albatross' with their giant wing span are more active when the wind kicks up and that is later in the day.)

Just enough time to go in search of cell reception and get my daily call with Scott! :-)

No sooner had I hung up from that call, parked randomly on the side of the bay, when a lady pulled up in her car and began tooting the horn to get my attention. She told that my van gave me away as a tourist and as such, she thought I might want to see the WHALE that was out there!!! Yes Ma'am!!!

I grabbed my big lens and pointed in the direction she said it was moving. Before long, the sound of tail-slapping got my attention and low and behold; evidence of an orca was intermittant. What was pure luck was the very second I had my camera focused out there, the orca breached and I shot one of my more priceless series of pictures. I was giddy with joy!

It was hard to believe my day could or would get any better but off I went to the head of the peninsular to learn about the albatross and the little blue penguin... and my day did get better.

Who doesnt love the sight of a penguin emerging from the ocean and waddling up the bank? They are adorable!

I drove out of Dunedin at 10:30pm, climbing the hills in dense fog and eventually unable to drive any further, coming to a rest at what I thought was a quiet parking area just off the highway. Turns out I slept at the bus stop for the Evansdale Cheese Factory! Whatever!

Friday, February 06, 2026

Poetry that surprises, don't you think?

Touch her slowly.

Not like you’re chasing something.

Like you’ve arrived.


Like you took your shoes off at the door of her soul.


She has already known hurried hands.

She has known wanting without listening.

She has known mouths full of promises

and hearts that left before morning.


So come different.


Touch her the way dawn touches tiled rooftops in Shiraz.

Quiet.

Almost shy.

As if light itself is asking permission.


Do not rush toward her body.

Start with your voice.


Let your words fall beside her

like petals that forgot how to be heavy.

Say her name the way travelers say water.

Say it like it matters.


She is not something to win.

She is a whole sky pretending to be human.


Look at her the way old poets looked at the moon.

Not for beauty alone

but for the ache inside it.


See the places she learned to be brave.

See the small tired corners of her smile.

See how she carries storms behind her ribs

and still pours tea with steady hands.


When you touch her,

make it feel ceremonial.


Let your fingers speak in prayers.

Let your palms remember ancient rivers.

Move like you’re holding a fragile secret,

not a body.


She doesn’t need to be handled.

She needs to be held.


Softness is not weakness.

Softness is a language kings forgot.


Touch her like the ocean touches land.

Again and again.

No demands.

Only presence.


Let desire rise slowly,

like incense smoke curling toward heaven.

Not fire that burns and disappears.

Something deeper.

Something that stays warm long after.


Let her feel that you are here.

Not halfway.

Not checking clocks.

Not thinking ahead.


Give her your hours.

Give her your listening.

Give her the quiet parts of yourself.


Sit with her stories.

Even the tangled ones.

Especially the tangled ones.


Learn the pauses between her sentences.

That’s where she hides the truth.


Don’t offer her scraps of attention.

Offer her stillness.

Offer her your full, imperfect focus.

The kind that makes time loosen its grip.


She has been touched before.

Yes.


By hands that hurried.

By voices that echoed.

By love that left coats on chairs

and never came back.


So be the one who stays.


Be the touch that doesn’t fade by morning.

Be the memory that feels like shelter.

Be the moment she carries

when the world gets loud.


Touch her like rain touching dust.

Like candlelight finding dark rooms.

Like something holy remembering its way home.


And when you leave her side,

leave her softer.

Leave her braver.


Leave her knowing

she was not just desired.


She was seen.

She was honored.

She was held in a way

that changed the shape of her heart.


~ lLarson Langston