MAKING PICTURES

Maoriland Worker, Volume 12, Issue 303, 20 December 1922, Page 5

MAKING PICTURES

By "QTJIZfc"

■When'my friend the Celt informed m<3 that he had "a magnificent Picture Gallery," I was naturally astonished, for I knew that he was as poor as the proverbial "Church Mouse," and that he had never in his life had one spare sixpence to rub against another. . "But sure," lie said, w-Jth his whimsical smile, "I matee my own pictures you see!" And he forthwith proceeded to tell mc how. 'Twas early on & summer morningand I stole quietly out of the -house. The moon was still shining .brightly*; as I made my way through the crooked little streets of the city. A poli'ce-m>;.n-shadowed one for qu'te a distance, but eased oft when he saw t!iat I was only making for the hillside. Uμ and up I went', through the dewdrenched grass, till I reached the top. By then the moon had set, and my canvas wja* receiving , its first grey tiling. On one sido of the hill at my feet was the city all quiet, and wrapped in a deep sleep. Oα the other, lay the sea, cold anfl grey, with the low dawn-clouds ? curry-aig over its face. In "ia little while, tho grey tints lightened, the dawn-clouds lifted, and a faint, pearly, pink crept over the sky. .In the East live rosy fingers rayed out fan-like over the ssa. • The "Rosy-Fingered Dawn" of the ■Greek was here. While I looked a mfraclo vi'Q.s happening. The New Day was being born before my eyes. Hurrying up from the "back of beyond" came the great Golden Globe. You could swear you heard it singing ,as it. came striking the water like a burnished gong. And down in the quiet valley below, the city began to yawn, and stretch itself, and to rub the sleep out of its eyes. Here and there, smoke wreaths curled ur> from chimneys—Humanity began to be afoot—and in less than another hour, the New Day v> xh in full going order. ..:,,. # * * * It was hours later. ' '■ ' The sun was right overhead. The cky was spread out, lika a child's Sjox of toys. The "Humans" like Jiltie flies, crossed and re-crossed tne narrow ribbon-like streets, . and swarmed over th 2 tiny rounds and squares of emerald, that lay dotted about at intervala. Over the surface of the. wide, blue, glistening' waters of the harbour sk.imrati.cl the ferry boats, black, and , white, like g"',ant birds, go:ng out and coining into port, all softly and quietly, like Dante's "Good Mariner." In the backgi-ound stood the "Everlasting Hills," range behind range, green, blue, and purple—bush-covered to th,e water's edge. . And over it all, was the "Neon-tide Hush." While I lay on the- brow of j the hill, scarce dar-ng to breathe, for ! the soft beauty of it all, a little bird came close up and peered at mc in bright-eyed wonder—the "poor gentle guest, by Nature kindly cherished," whose whole world would "grow dark in binding dearth," at the hands of some cureless, miuchievour, boy! : And the only sound that broke-the ! stillness was'the "Schk, Schk," of the gors.erbuds, burst'ng in the sun. * - •«• *' *" So the hours went by. And then began the Sun's "Going." How loajih she was to depart, and what a coquettish business ahe made of it when she got near the ranges. Dancing along towards them—all a shimmer with silver and gold. Then drawing back,' that she might make hers'dli more alluring in a soft veiling of pink (and purple cloud—lower and lower she seemed to sink, like a woman sinking softly into the arms nf her lover. Then, appearing to change her mind, she drew herself back—then shev took a leap forward, then another, back. Finally, she shot suddenly down, behind the- shoulder of ■ the furthest range, all smothered In; veilings of rose, and purple and gold. These are ' three of my "MasberI pieces." I call them THE COMING —. I HIGH NOON—AND THE GOING. They are mine for all time. No one can ever deprive mc of these memories—my most priceless possessions. And just tell mc now—is there, any reason why everyone m;ay not have beautiful pictures—tilings ot imperishable beauty, stored in the Gallery of Memory? "For this is Nature's largesse—colour, tone, Splendour of land or sea. All that we onoe behold, becomes our own, For days that are to be." ' >