early in my time here
in my late fifties
I was at the bottom of Maratahu St
when the sun dimmed
and another rain squall combed the grass
and shook rooftops and tree canopies
and a woman of about my age
on the opposite side of the road
hood over short-cropped grey hair
hands deep in a blue parka’s pockets
sang out in a friendly voice
bloody Taranaki weather
