
This faded Fuji photograph
green at the bottom, as always,
green for the soft life of towns.
In middle ground, a river, 
tiny wee us 
and our tartan picnic rug.
Then the mountains, 
tall girls at the back.
My mother pours tea from a thermos. 
    Beside her a book of native plants
    is open at the Mount Cook Lily.
    I have a book too.
My father looks towards Mount Cook 
    (that was its name then). 
    He is smiling because 
    the mountain has decided 
    to show itself.
   
    A hawk flies low to the land, 
    in circles. My sister sees a rabbit 
    running
    across a ridge. 
We were simply provided with mountains.