The novice nuns gather their habits around themselves. It's the same each day, the cell, the tiled courtyard with it's roses, cloisters and the chapel by the orchard garden. Later, the refectory. The Familiar Flying into Christchurch, the evening light sliding low and green beneath a nor'west arch, you are surprised to see the Waimakariri, sinuous as an eel, looping and meandering through swamps of flax and cabbage trees, and the few remaining stands of lowland totara and kahikatea. Leaning close to the glass, you notice a canoe on the river, slipping through the photogravure of the shallows.
Smoke rises from campsites.
It is not what you expect. You are out of time. The plane lands. As you drive into the city, you're concerned to find it beautiful. It will be a troubled night.