White Horses and Rainbows

I had determined that I wanted to see the East Cape of the North Island of New Zealand, a place off the tourist track and therefore not fully accessible by bus; so I rented a car. While driving the gravel road along the rough coast to the country's easternmost point I was witness to this -- one of the most breathtaking things I've seen.

The widest rainbow I've ever seen, stretching from mountain face to ocean waves. No one else was around. I couldn't believe my good fortune.

Earlier that same day I was witness to a sight I couldn't have choreographed any better than it occurred. I was rounding a corner, climbing a hill in the "wop-wops" (Kiwi-speak for boonies). Again, no one else was around. I looked up to see a very large pure white horse outside of the fenced field, posed regally in front of a dark evergreen tree. His chest and jaw were thrust forward, his shoulders squared back, his head held high with pride and power, his mane and tail fluttering with the breeze. I was awed by his majestic bearing, by the striking contrast of the white against the dark green, and by the undeniable essence of freedom he portrayed. It was a sight so incredible it took me a moment to process it as reality. Once I did, I reached for my camera -- which I learned to keep on the seat next to me -- but in that moment, he became aware of me and bolted. My presence had shattered the magic. No picture to share, but the image is indeliably burned into my mind.

I've several other pictureless images to share with you. Again, I'm on the East Cape. I rounded another corner to find two very colorfully plumed birds with red faces -- perhaps pheasants? -- in the center of the road doing an elaborate dance that I presume was either mating or fighting (I know, it's hard to tell). My presence changed nothing; I waited until they were done.

The East Cape provides the venue for another image on yet another windy back road. As I drive I note that there are several cattle on a very steep mountainside and they are racing down it -- on a very specific path -- as if they are late for tea with the Queen. There are no humans or dogs in sight, just cows racing, running as if their lives depended on it, not wanting to be left out. I realized that I was witness to a stampede and began to supply the soundtrack, "Hey! What's going on?!" "I don't know, but I want to be a part of it!" "Are you sure we're supposed to go now?" "I thought we had another hour of grazing!" "Last one in is a rotten egg." "Wait for meeeee!" And at the bottom of the hill, they began to stack up against a fence, shoving and pushing each other, mooing in a frenzy like they had been terribly misled (which they had!). I made a mental note not to return to earth as a cow.

This image is from another time that I rented a car, this time to tour the very south of New Zealand's South Island, an area called the Catlins. I was strolling on the beach of Porpoise Bay, looking for, yes, porpoises. The dolphins in this part of New Zealand are called Hector's dolphins and are presumed not to be as playful as our Flipper types. But ever hopeful, I watched and waited. Then I saw the telltale fins just grazing the surface of the water, but they were doing nothing more than swimming along -- or so I thought. At that moment, the morning's sun shone brightly through the back of a wave and illuminated the five dolphins surfing the wave underwater in perfect unison. It was a sight so delightful -- and so unexpected -- I clapped with joy.

Next image is in Australia, while I am sea-kayaking off Great Keppel Island. We were looking for dolphins, big fish, some kind of excitement. All of a sudden I saw a flash of silver washing like a wave across the bow of my kayak. I wasn't sure of what I was seeing, then my eyes parsed it out and relayed the message to the brain -- about 50 very small silver fish had simulataneously leapt from the water. And to reassure myself that they indeed had done that once, they did it again. It was a stunning sight.

Final image to leave with you, this one not requiring the privacy of my own transport. I am on a bus in Australia -- a long ride -- and the movie Dr. Doolittle is on the screen. For some reason the movie is making me very emotional, yet I'm feeling warmed by the sweetness of the story. At a key moment in the movie, I look out the window and see four brightly-colored parrots flying next to the bus, darting and bobbing and dancing. I smile knowing it was just for me. A moment of nature's humor and grace just for me.