The ripple not broken

Words by Tiger Perkins.

Beautiful sweeping undulations,
Crisp deep green ridges corrupted as bubbles
catch up to the flow of the boat.
Leaves litter the water and a stick floats rigidly past.
Ripples pushed in bunches from under the bow forming a soft arrowhead in our wake.
Gables tucked in behind like the confident curl of the hair behind
an ear.

The boat starts to rise and fall stuttering irregularly over the
growing swells

Whose white rooves guard the subdued plane in the middle where a ferry ambles smoothly past. 

Finding pleasure in the liminal waiting spaces of nature,
Wrapped up in a jacket on a boat,
Walking back from work through a breeze,
Sitting on the ground at a bus stop on a cold morning,
Searching for the sky through the crowd of passing faces.


This article was published in ‘Embers’, a pullout in Honi’s Semester 1, Week 11 edition.