DK: On the Auckland Domain

In the Park in the City of Sails on an Island in Oceania

By Daniel Koster

            I’m surrounded.  It’s February, but summer.  My being is enveloped by the leafy crown of a vibrant tree; my body coddled by its roots.  The shooters poking out of the ground provide a convenient seat.  My back rests on the big guy’s trunk.  A comfortable spot, I’ve found.  It must be an ancient tree, as many that he lives near are indefinably old.  His home is the Auckland Domain—a park minutes from my new home in the City of Sails: Auckland, New Zealand.

            As I attempt to look through the tree’s encompassing perimeter, a perimeter composed of leaves and branches; I can see bits and pieces of my friends and dorm-mates.  They’re playing a game of footie, or soccer in other regions.  I chose not to join.  Instead, I’m sitting of to the side enjoying a chilly New Zealand Lager and listening to jazz and blues.  I wouldn’t trade this.

            When I began to write, the western sky was aglow.  Pink and purple clouds danced over the rolling hills of the Domain.  As I continued to write, their ritual would not wait.  They tangoed over the museum, a classically beautiful building atop a hill.  It wouldn’t feel out of place in Washington, DC—my home’s capitol.  The clouds waltzed past the six or eight cricket games being hosted right off the grandstand.  By another field, they two-stepped over the heads of rugby players.  As the games rage on, wives grill kiwi style sausages as children watch their father’s bash on towards glory.  Although currently beyond presentable recognition, they see in their fathers what they one-day hope to see in themselves.  By why stop there?  More than one child might envision himself an All Black—just as a Brooklyn boy might see himself a Yankee.  Here, especially in the context of this upward-looking- piece-of-literature, it’s quite easy to remember that the sky’s the limit.

As the clouds move on, they haka’d over the fernery—home to a nursery of native ferns and indigenous plants.  You know, I bet they even saw their reflection in the courtyard’s pool located in between the two winterhouses.  The residents of this courtyard, four romantic statues, one labeled “summer,” another labeled “winter,” another labeled “spring” and yet another labeled “fall” likely found the cloud’s passing as enjoyable as they had the first evening they’d witnessed such a scene.

            The light show continues westward.  While its 8 pm on a Wednesday here, back home in New York it’s 2 am.  As far as days of the week are concerned, my friends and family and everyone that I have ever known has finally caught up—but only for a little while.  The sun keeps traveling!  It keeps traveling so that my friends in New Zealand can have a night to sleep to.  But it also travels so that those I love back home can have a Wednesday.  The sun’s fair that way.  We’ll talk tomorrow.  But wait, isn’t that today?