It was like watching a film, in sepia at first... Out from a vehicle of unknown type came a group of men and woman. They varied in age from the late teens to all the way up to gray haired days. Walking across a dirt road and towards a set of wooden stairs that was the doorway to the bush. Poetry books were handed to a few of the empty handed people, worn, underground copies. Some were handwritten as the outlawing of poetry had meant most published works had been removed from society. Indulging in poetry and Literature was the groups reason for meeting in the dimming twilight under a starless sky. To temp and tease the mind with forbidden flowing words and written scenes. Silently they began to walk. Down the stained steps and into the boding woods.
A male in his 30s was the head of the single file. Chalk in one hand, a torch in the other. Behind him was another middle aged man with a rifle on his back. This is what it took to enjoy what you loved... He got slightly ahead of the group, turning off the path This was where the surrounding foliage started to get thicker. Dense. Darker. He marked a tall punga with a white symbol, and headed around the tree. The land slopped and the group (somewhat spread out by now), began to wander downwards. One stopped by the edge of the hill, and starred. Vast and lush bush, but with a hint of decay was below. It stretched on for miles, though in this light (or lack theirof) the eyes couldn't see that far.
A flat patch of earth , less trees, and a natural central walk way past half a dozen large rocks, was come across by our excursionists. Look closer my dear. Not rocks. Gravestones. Some appeared new, as if they hadn't aged a day. While others were merely piles of stones acting and a reminder that this was a souls resting place. A large dark ethnic stone, with blood red korus scarred into its service Stood apart from the rest, against the black. It was breathtaking, Maori words covered it surface with grief and grace...The air was cooler here. Thicker. Fill with something else. They all could feel it. Knowledge that there was more here, more than the 6 grave markers claimed there be. Long flowing Feminine skirts brushed pass stone “Blessed be” and whispers of thanks, with estrogen aftertastes, warmed the night breeze.
The man with the chalk is no longer at the front now, they all know which way to go . Well they should, two men head left down a stone staircase that appears suddenly, as if it knew they were coming and wanted to surprise them by materialising from the hillside. “your not supposed to go that way” they called. The voices were ignored. The rest head down to the right hand side. Deep down, underground like entering inside the chest of the earth/ The walls are Damp and made entirely of unpolished raw granite . Pictures, carvings or sorts cover the walls, the details hidden in the ebonyness. By unspoken agreement, the group splits into two. Males towards the left and down a long straight passage. Five females continue on, to the right of the passages fork. A slight incline, turn an unfamiliar corner... And something happens....
stay tuned for the next exciting episode.
