Ngā tohu
Te Kore
The girl walks into the forest for the first time in ages. She remembers a long-ago time, when she went by a different name. Now—like then—she comes here seeking refuge.
The forest rushes up to greet her. Wind tinkling, leaves turning themselves inside out. Steel your back, her tūpuna whisper. She notices everything. Her hair is long and she is carrying many things between her hands. A bruised ego, a shattered worldview, endless potential.
*
Te Pō
‘Hurry up! It’ll get packed soon if we don’t get there quick!’
Her cousins trip over themselves racing to the swimming hole. The girl doesn’t care how packed it might be, or about the coldness of the water, or about much of anything to be honest. It’s the height of summer and the dappled light through the dense forest canopy promises sunshine at the waterfall. Warming herself on the rocks like a seal has always been her favourite pastime but right now she’s in te pō and auē is it a long night. Couldn’t banish the cold even if she wanted to. Her friends tell her that time heals all wounds. Her friends can shove right off.
*
Te Whaiao
The foreign trees that line suburban streets have all lost and regained their colour, making a mess of the place in the process. In her forest it’s harder to tell the passage of time, but there are fortunate ones who can still read the signs.
She’s back, in more ways than one. Fresh rain has made the soil soft underfoot. Her feet stamp evidence that she was here. The air is alive with the smell of wood and moss, sharp and impossible to bottle. But why would you want to? Come on out and get a big ol’ whiff.
Hā ki roto. Deep in the forest, she thinks of a manu taking flight.
Hā ki waho. Deeper still, a pikopiko unfurls.
*
Te Ao Mārama
It’s summer again and the red of the pōhutukawa is shocking against the cloudless sky. Mist carried in from the sea leaves the world aglow with halos. Knowing the crescendo was coming doesn’t take away from just how bright everything feels. She is curled up at the base of her kauri on the forest edge. Years later, when she learns the stories and the rhythms and the tohu, she’ll credit these trees for getting her through that long night. For now, she’s just happy to be here, sun on her face, light fizzing in her future.
Tahi Moton calls Wellington and West Auckland home. She is an occasional writer and all-the-time reader. You can find her on substack @tahispage