In the Twilight of Years

In the twilight of his years I often sit with my 90 year old dad on the bench at the end of Garnet Road looking out to sea.

On the fringe of the inner harbour we watch the seabirds fossick for food. It is a picture of peace.

But across our city, winds of change blow. Plans to sweep away our heritage suburbs are mandated by central government, a proclamation not a consultation. It has been decided Tamaki Makaurau will accept another million souls over the next 30 years. We will grow up and out and we will build a “world class” transport system and they will come.

In this climate of slick power points and overwritten reports the winners are the faceless consultants, ticking boxes and signing cheques to preferred suppliers. My dad will not live to see the utopia promised in the council propaganda. He will be spared the war zone of rebuilding, the brutal modernist apartments for the needy. He will not feel the pain of ancestral native trees felled in the name of affordable housing.

Caffeine fuelled councillors will promise parks and open green spaces but the budgets will be slashed, and glyphosate will still be sprayed in every street, every month, in a criss-cross pattern across the city. Why? Because there is no real accountability built into our Super City. It is the Wild, Wild, West. Ratepayers are there to fill the coffers that are spent on dreams and vanity projects.

Leaning on his walker, my dad struggles - we can't go far and it is slow. I am reminded of the fragility of life, the delicate balance of nature and how precious each day really is.

I want to drive to Coxs Bay and walk around the creek edge to show Dad the white faced herons that dance along the branches high above the rodent line, beyond possums and man’s reach, but the bridge is closed and fenced off. Soon, kamikaze cyclists will rocket down the new shared path and over the bridge at break neck speed. Dog walkers will scatter, pram pushers swerve and joggers will do a sidestep to avoid collision with wheel, spoke or pedal.

We leave the bench, stopping in the shade where Dad sits on his walking frame catching his breath. Time passes as he gathers his strength. “If you could, what would you do? ” asks Dad. I smile, looking towards the sea, “that’s easy, I’d ask Mike Lee to stand for mayor.”

Lisa Prager, Westmere

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