Memory is a strange thing. The past is nothing more than stories we tell ourselves. Often, when trying to recall particulars, I wonder at how the story spins itself from fleeting fragments, and vivid shards, from the delight of the senses, from a depth of feeling. We tell ourselves these stories, and whether we lose pieces along the way, the stories become the past.
My memories of Waiheke Island are steeped in sunshine, the overwhelming, brilliant kind that makes you squint even behind sunglasses and raises the scent of hot, dry grass. They are filled with a freshening ocean breeze, laden with salt and the promise of the sea on your skin.
Our home on the island was an entirely extravagant beach cabin at Connell’s Bay. As you may have guessed, yes, we have been entering the luxury portion of our honeymoon (just wait for Fiji!).
Though our stay began … Continue reading