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Sport 36: Winter 2008

Day five

page 98

Day five

My bed faces northeast, up the valley floor to the snow-capped Tararuas. A visitor, relieved to find me alive and compos, turns his gaze and mine to the hills. If only the hospital could pull anchor.

I am trying to read the second book in Philip Pullman's trilogy. It is too much, but the image of the witches stays with me. The gulls outside are doing their own wide arcs and I imagine witches, black scratches, flying in a parallel universe across the sky.

There are long times of nothing. There are long nights. The nurse that is kind: just ring your bell whenever you need me. The nurse that isn't: ignores the tears. The world outside my door is noisy and only occasionally makes its way into my room. Some friends are staying away because it's early days, others are coming. Too many or too few. I can only hold a positive thought in my head for a second. It's as if there is a turbulent river below me, which I must cross. There is a swing bridge, but all the slats in front of me are missing. It feels like courage and I are spinning in different orbits.