MORNING AND EVENING IN THE VALLEY

Otago Daily Times, Issue 22824, 7 March 1936, Page 23

MORNING AND EVENING IN THE VALLEY

GORGE ROAD, QUEENSTOWN

By L. E. E.

Since the very first moment that he rose to view over the topmost ridge of Queenstown Hill, the sun had poured brazenly into the valley. A long narrow valley it was, running almost north and south, hemmed in on one side by the steep, almost precipitous, cliffs of Queenstown Hill, and on the other by the rugged height of Bowen Peak. Away to the north-east, behind and above a perspective of hills, and sharply etched against the cloudless blue of the sky, rose Coronet Peak, the soft haziness of distance lending enhancement to its royalty. The other end of the valley was almost screened from view by a tiMir belt of ancient pinos, which reared tall spires of darkest green high into the heavens. Through the pines could be glimpsed the dark mass of Cecil Peak beneath which Lake Wakatipu, on this so hot and breathless day, seemed a still sheet of azure blue. A few scattered wisps of clouds drifted aimlessly across the sky—too white and glittering with heat to offer balm to a sun-drenched world.

Down in the garden the flowers drooped listlessly, their attitude the one great prayer for rain. The air was heavy with the mingled scents of mignonette and stock, sweet peas and old red roses. Bees and insects murmured drowsily over their tasks and little grey purple moths fluttered over the tall white daisies. The golden rod was a mass of molten gold in the sunlight, and a host of great black and gold humble bees bumbled noisily over it, gorging themselves with nectar and filling the. air with ,the drone of their industry. A yellow hammer perched on the garden fence. Redpoles and chaffinches flew down from the trees to drink deeply from the creek, and blackbirds moved swiftly across the grass, their golden beaks gleaming against the green. In.a disused flower bed the sparrows revelled in the dust, fluffing out their feathers and basking in the sun. 'High above the pines a hawk, sombre in the brightness, circled lower and lower, in his ceaseless search for prey. Below the swamp, from the creek with its lush grassy banks, sounded the cool splashing of the trout. The geese, gliding noiselessly down the stream, sought the shade of overhanging trees. Across the swamp the willows stood motionless and silent A million thistle heads, soft and downy, stood ready for the faintest breath of wind, and the seed pods of the foxgloves crackled and sputtered-in the sun. Over the whole of the valley swam a film ot heat dancing and glistening in the sunshine. The mountains were blurred and dim in the blue'haze that enveloped them, and the sun seemed to reflect again from the great boulders on the hillside. Even the cattle drooped wearily beneath the trees, and a dog straggled into the shade, stretching lazily to sleep through the weary sun-drugged hours. The eun mounted higher and higher In the sky, reached his zenith, then slowly descended and slipped behind the mountain peak. Up the valley came the softest little breeze from the lake, the dreaming thistle heads had heard its call, and the air was misty with a myriad of frail, silken barques. The tired and drooping flowers lifted their heads to the freshness and absorbed new life; the scent of mignonette /seemed sweeter than before and a host of little grey moths drifted over the plants. The laden honey bees deserted the garden, but the great black and gold ones buried themselves in the golden rod and prepared for sleep. A thousand winds whispered from the poplars and through the topmost branches of the pines; a soft breeze echoed in the willows and rustled through the leaves, and all the air was filled with sweetness and refreshing coolness. Soon the valley was in shadow, and only the distant peaks beyond the lake gleamed in the sunlight. Glimpsed through the blackness of the pines, Cecil Peak was bathed in a golden glow, dusky in the purple haze and misty silver through a film of thistledown. Great black shadows in the golden light marked the rugged patches of the mountain. At the other end of the valley Coronet Peak was touched to silver-blue by the lingering raya of the sun. Then the artist of sunset appeared with hie brush. He dipped the Coronet in glowing gold, tinted the blueness above it a delicate shade of pink, then slowly he deepened the gold of the mountains to red. The breeze died away in the trees and there were stillness and silence in the garden. Birds flew swiftly towards their nests, and the rabbits, white tails bobbing, came out for their evening play. Peace and restfulness hung over the valley.