Spring in the Bush

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXII, Issue 22250, 26 October 1935, Page 4 (Supplement)

Spring in the Bush

By JOAN JOHNSTON. 0/0 Hospital, Kaitaia, North Auckland. Under the trees the path was wet and slippery, ankle-deep in mud. Tho stealthy pattering of raindrops on leaves seemed to add to the general atmosphere of dampness nnd silence. Just a muddy track beneath the trees — no signs yet of nature's spring awakening. But unexpectedly, through tho undergrowth I caught a gleam of gold. Of course —our little kowhai tree, but how it had grown! Clusters of golden flowers were scattered over its branches, with the light feathery green of the foliago beginning to uncurl between. Hanging among the flower sprays were last year's long brown seed pods—groups of tiny round boxes with frilly edges. A passing gust of wind sot all tho seed pods rattling, and shook down a shower of blossoms that caught and held like flakes of gold among the shrubs around. A strong unmistakable scent led me to great bushes of iningi mingi smothered with their tiny cream flowers. I was standing on the creek bank, the only sound in the bush seeming to be the soft murmuring of the flowing water and the musical splashing of tiny waterfalls. But through the silence came a haunting, minor song: there was a whirr of tiny wings and there appeared three —no, four —riroriros and settled on a rangiora overhead. Contendedly they fed, darting from branch to branch and now and then giving a little trill of song. But there was a sudden flashing flight and they had gone. Something, a dark gliding shadow, had almost brushed my faco, then disappeared on silent wings into tho dimness of the bush. Why of course it was no ghost, just our old friend the morepork startled from its usual daytimo retreat in an old punga. In a rewarewa tree I found my next signs of spring's advance. There were odd sprays of dark red buds among the long xeaves, with here and there a few of tho petals uncurling and rolling back in their quaint way. Here also, last season's empty seed pods still remained —just like bunches of tiny black canoes. Further up the creek I began searching for a certain tree. Ah! here was a scattering of long white petals on the leaf mould. Overhead I could see nothing but the foliage of the surrounding trees, but on climbing a near by bank, I could see among the tops of the trees, a mass of snowy clematis bloom. Great sprayaof beautiful flowers, they gleamed in dazzling whiteness against their dark green background. The gully was narrowing now to the width of th' creek, so I scrambled up from tho cool darkness of the bush, up through the bracken, till I was looking down on the roof of trees in all their mingled greens.

All around 'was a sea of teatree massed in pink and white. Among the warm scented flowers, bees were buzzing in busy labour. Surely spring is hero at last!