Moments of Too Much Perfection

“We can all do with moments of too much perfection.” (sentiment from Christian Slater in Bed of Roses, not a great movie but like the line). I certainly enjoyed a few of them in my monthly journey over to Hamilton for an Irish music session...


My child, bleary-eyed, running downstairs to find me before I leave, a bedtime promise to be fulfilled. A body wrapping itself around me, tighter than sushi, more delicious.

The sand, cool in the early morning, my jandals softly slapping it up my legs, a deep breath of salt, space, sun over surf.

A friend with whom the walking, sharing, laughing, continues for 9kms.  A cafe, perfectly situated two thirds of the way around Waikareao Estuary.  A usually insensitive nose, anticipating the mocha, suddenly picking up the whiff of double shot delight.

The back seat of the Odyssey, flipped up and over. Guitar, bodhran, diary. Resting in comfort. Looking out to grass, plants, trees, sky. Sparrows peck, chirp, take in the world with their cocked heads. The wind part of my music, or vice versa.

Two feet enter my favourite art gallery and immediately still themselves. Eyes are taken to a sunset photo of Raglan beach, yellow-orange hues rarely caught, a crispness in the waves softened by peripheral toitoi. The stillness spreads up my body as inspiration settles in.

And then, in the zone. Where it is not you or her or him or I connecting the dots and with our mouths and fingers and arms and feet making something that sounds like a tune. It is a group of people listening, feeling, connecting with each other and creating a piece of art with a life of its own – or ours, indistinguishable in the moment, one from the other.

The day ends with Pirongia silhouetted by fire, viewed from the top of the Kaimais.

One last moment of too much perfection, all witnessed in one day.