September, 1973. Auckland, New Zealand.

 

I don't remember exactly if it was a weekday, but the roads

 up to Mangawhai Heads were wide open.

 

Rushki was driving her little blue Mini.

 

She's wearing white pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. 

Her hair tied back with a Spanish barrette.

 

We stopped at 'The Dome', a roadside cafe about half-way from Auckland. 

For tea and laughter.

 

At Mangawhai, we made love on a sand-dune, in brilliantly cascading sunlight,

with our eyes shining brightly only for each other.

 

I saw you, caressed by the soft sand, your womanly luminous beauty slightly 

flushed from lovemaking.  Just a little self-conscious in your naked shyness. 

You saw me, against the blue sky, with fast fluffy clouds. 

 

We both heard the rumbling surf, the soft ocean breeze playing 

tag in and out of the swaying reeds, and each others heartbeats.

 

I'm so ridiculously happy, it's all I can do not to cry. 

But I didn't. I wouldn't let anything disturb that most perfect vision of you.

 

Had I died at that very moment, I couldn't have possibly been 

any happier in my life.