Neither of us is adept at doing nothing. New Zealand is too tempting. We’d planned a busy weekend—the Coromandel Arts Tour. Friends loaned us a beach house at Athenree, close to the action. But after arriving, we decided to stay put and enjoy the solitude …
and decades of National Geographic. Dozens of vintage albums, too. Rossini, a Polish dance ensemble, the Kingston Trio, West Side Story. It’s been 15 years since I dropped the needle on a phonograph. Scratchy, wonderful sound.
Our single outing was a stroll to the coast across an estuary. The slate grey muddy tidal flats matched the early morning sky. A lone rider cantered a horse. Unbelievably, it was an Appaloosa, the Palouse horse.
Driving home, all bets were off. We came; we achieved the nothing-thing. But we couldn’t resist a roadside waterfalls. Always a scramble up, and especially down.