realized she was halfway back to her studio. She'd been thinking she might paint him.
She showered and got a drink of lemon and water. She grabbed her watercolor pad, then stopped short in the doorway, in mid-stride, as a large male tui landed and swayed on the closest flax flower-stalk.
The width of the terrace from her, in full afternoon sun, his green iridescence morphed to blue and back to green as he twisted, nectar hunting. Now he almost faced her, flaunting his curling white neck-feather as he raised his head. He twitched and burrowed into another seed pod.
She grin ned as she remembered how flax nectar fermented and wondered how many sips would make a tui tipsy. A minute passed and suddenly the stalk flicked in the breeze as he leaped into flight and was gone in a flash of blue and brown.
In a chair on the terrace, she drew the bird with a hard graphite pencil. A few strokes and his head appeared, twisted towards her, ready to be given life with a splash of color. Then she drew the seed-pods, rampant, waiting for him to harvest what they held. A few more quick lines completed her composition.
The tui's feeding saved, she put it aside. The man's face had intruded and she couldn't push him away. His smile teased at her mind's edge.
She tried to capture him. She drew the outline of a face framed between sails. His eyes needed color, but even blank they stared at her, enticing her to find out more. She imagined him close without a crush of little yachts and people scrambling for his attention.
But not t oo close. Nooo, Cassie.
She put the drawing under everything. Her holiday was not to find a guy, or dream about a guy, or wonder about whether she should. It was to get her head back together.
She returned to the tui, mixed some watercolors, and painted as shadows shifted on the terrace, until a patch of bright that slowly encroached up her arms finally dazzled her when it hit a corner of her work. And she realized she was hungry.
She cut a tomato she'd bought and ate tuna with it. She savored it. 'Freedom was not being served Pete's macrobiotic brown rice and seaweed. She planned to eat him right out of her life.
Cassie looked critically at her bird. She decided to change some details, but of course her watercolors had now dried up. And the light wasn't good now. She shrugged and put everything away, including her sketch of Paua-Eyes.
The lounger looked appealing. She laid on it and watched the sk y's color change slowly into its evening hue. The cloud cover turned fiery red as her first day came to an end. She decided she'd swim again in the morning. And find him, if she could. To finish the portrait, she needed a photograph.
Cassie wondered if she could get one without him thinking she fancied him.
Chief Boatman
Tuesday dawned sunny, but very gusty and cool. So she stayed at the studio and painted and read until well into the afternoon, when the wind calmed. It still wasn't warm, so she decided against a swim, but guessed it wouldn't hurt to see if he was at the beach. She could get his picture with her phone.
She got distracted on the way.
She found the art gallery again, in the middle of things, bookshop on one side, outdoor café on the other. Bustling. Lots of cars nosed into the kerb, and many people wandering. On a whim, she decided she'd have a closer look at the art.
They had bits of everything. A wall of paintings drew her; a striking seascape particularly. Spray seemed to fly from its canvas. She'd never been able to capture sea like that.
A weather-beaten, kind-eyed man came over, having seen her interest, and she found him as fascinating as the painting.
Cassie admitted she painted too, that her passion was depicting birds. She said she also painted people if they had something that attracted her. She agreed to show him a picture if she finished one while in Marsden Bay.
When he broke off talking to answer a question from another tourist , she realized time was passing, and she'd
She showered and got a drink of lemon and water. She grabbed her watercolor pad, then stopped short in the doorway, in mid-stride, as a large male tui landed and swayed on the closest flax flower-stalk.
The width of the terrace from her, in full afternoon sun, his green iridescence morphed to blue and back to green as he twisted, nectar hunting. Now he almost faced her, flaunting his curling white neck-feather as he raised his head. He twitched and burrowed into another seed pod.
She grin ned as she remembered how flax nectar fermented and wondered how many sips would make a tui tipsy. A minute passed and suddenly the stalk flicked in the breeze as he leaped into flight and was gone in a flash of blue and brown.
In a chair on the terrace, she drew the bird with a hard graphite pencil. A few strokes and his head appeared, twisted towards her, ready to be given life with a splash of color. Then she drew the seed-pods, rampant, waiting for him to harvest what they held. A few more quick lines completed her composition.
The tui's feeding saved, she put it aside. The man's face had intruded and she couldn't push him away. His smile teased at her mind's edge.
She tried to capture him. She drew the outline of a face framed between sails. His eyes needed color, but even blank they stared at her, enticing her to find out more. She imagined him close without a crush of little yachts and people scrambling for his attention.
But not t oo close. Nooo, Cassie.
She put the drawing under everything. Her holiday was not to find a guy, or dream about a guy, or wonder about whether she should. It was to get her head back together.
She returned to the tui, mixed some watercolors, and painted as shadows shifted on the terrace, until a patch of bright that slowly encroached up her arms finally dazzled her when it hit a corner of her work. And she realized she was hungry.
She cut a tomato she'd bought and ate tuna with it. She savored it. 'Freedom was not being served Pete's macrobiotic brown rice and seaweed. She planned to eat him right out of her life.
Cassie looked critically at her bird. She decided to change some details, but of course her watercolors had now dried up. And the light wasn't good now. She shrugged and put everything away, including her sketch of Paua-Eyes.
The lounger looked appealing. She laid on it and watched the sk y's color change slowly into its evening hue. The cloud cover turned fiery red as her first day came to an end. She decided she'd swim again in the morning. And find him, if she could. To finish the portrait, she needed a photograph.
Cassie wondered if she could get one without him thinking she fancied him.
Chief Boatman
Tuesday dawned sunny, but very gusty and cool. So she stayed at the studio and painted and read until well into the afternoon, when the wind calmed. It still wasn't warm, so she decided against a swim, but guessed it wouldn't hurt to see if he was at the beach. She could get his picture with her phone.
She got distracted on the way.
She found the art gallery again, in the middle of things, bookshop on one side, outdoor café on the other. Bustling. Lots of cars nosed into the kerb, and many people wandering. On a whim, she decided she'd have a closer look at the art.
They had bits of everything. A wall of paintings drew her; a striking seascape particularly. Spray seemed to fly from its canvas. She'd never been able to capture sea like that.
A weather-beaten, kind-eyed man came over, having seen her interest, and she found him as fascinating as the painting.
Cassie admitted she painted too, that her passion was depicting birds. She said she also painted people if they had something that attracted her. She agreed to show him a picture if she finished one while in Marsden Bay.
When he broke off talking to answer a question from another tourist , she realized time was passing, and she'd
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