This faded Fuji photograph
green at the bottom, as always,
green for the soft life of towns.
In middle ground, a river,
tiny wee us
and our tartan picnic rug.
Then the mountains,
tall girls at the back.
My mother pours tea from a thermos.
Beside her a book of native plants
is open at the Mount Cook Lily.
I have a book too.
My father looks towards Mount Cook
(that was its name then).
He is smiling because
the mountain has decided
to show itself.
A hawk flies low to the land,
in circles. My sister sees a rabbit
across a ridge.
We were simply provided with mountains.