I hadn’t noticed the leaves having turned yellow — a canary yellow, a lemon yellow — until you told me so. At least, I think they have changed their colours; I’m not the best at recognising trees and plants so for all I know these is their usual hue.
Still, you’re right: they do give off an autumnal flavour.
We are waiting in line to buy groceries at the nearest Countdown. We queue together, knowing that we will have to separate once we get to the head of the line; only one person per household is allowed to enter the supermarket during lockdown.
That’s when you will wait for me outside, in the carpark, in the fresh air, with the sunlight you tell me you need for vitamin D, for your pale skin, and you take pictures of trees and birds.
We are in the middle of the suburbs, in Kingsland, in Auckland, in the city, and you can still see the trees. You notice the gold above our heads. You tell me things I don’t know about, like some of their names and their supposed medicinal properties and where else we have seen them — Tohoku, Patagonia, Cape Town, Chiang Mai.
You remind me we are always travelling even when we are sheltering in place, even when we are stranded and going nowhere. We are always on a journey. We are always on an adventure.
What a wonderful way to live this is! I realise this late in the game but life has taught me, you have taught me, that it’s never too late.