It was hard to fall asleep last night. Listening to the wind moan and force its way through the trees and poke at the edges of the house trying to get in kept me awake. It was like an entity out there swirling around looking for a chink in our defenses. It was so windy last night that there were wind ripples in the snow on the bank in the backyard, like the ripples in the sand on the bottom of the ocean. Freaky.
March 11--New Zealand Photographer, Mina Mikata, Half Caste Maorie. Elise sat at her campfire trying to keep it alive in the never ending drizzle. She had managed to gather wood and kindling before today's rain began and had tucked it under the rain fly of her tent. She knew that there were other people in the area, natives she assumed, because when she came back from her birdwatching hikes she usually found things moved around. Nothing was stolen, just moved. This morning had promised rain so she spent the time before gathering wood, storing items that would not tolerate a drenching very well, and putting together a pot of soup. She had rigged a tripod over the fire and hung her biggest kettle by its handle. She had started with water and bouillon cubes, added the remains of the last two nights' meals--meats, vegetables, rice, and all--and a pinch of herbs. The aroma itself had started to make her feel warmer as she chopped a few onion tops and a couple carrots to add to the pot. A slight movement to one side caught her attention. She was experienced enough an observer to not show interest but kept cutting vegetables. There it was again. And again. Elise kept to her task and was surprised to see a small dark-eyed child emerge from the dense undergrowth. The child sheltered under a woven raffia cape sewn all over with thin beads that made a swishing sound like the wind blowing through a wheat field. Elise kept her eyes on her knife and moved very slowly when she slid the vegetables into the soup. She put the knife and board down, then wiped her hands before clasping them in front of herself. She turned and smiled a close-lipped smile at the child. "I'm Elise," she said. "Who are you?" There was a long silence when the only sound was the patter of rain on leaves. Just when Elise was about to speak again came the soft answer. "Mina."
I wonder what these two have to offer each other. Anybody out there? Anybody else writing? Guess not.
--Barbara
1 comment:
Barbara,
I have the same calendar that you have, and was fascinated by the photo of Mina Mikata the half caste Maori. Your post was the only one I could find about the picture. I wasn't sure if Mina was a man or a woman, or a teenage girl. (I preferred to think Mina is a woman.) The eyes are startling, and on closer examination, the left eye seems to be staring straight ahead, and the other eye is looking a bit to the right.
Your description of the robe is interesting. Like you, I thought it might be covered with shells or possibly feather quills, but your description of it as being raffia seemed like a good guess.
Your idea of using the pictures on the calendar as a jumping off point for writing is a good idea. I was given the calendar as a Christmas gift, and it's been a conversation starter at work. I'll bookmark your blog to check your takes on the pictures.
David
Stow, OH
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