Takahē 92, April 2018
The girl seems surprised to see me. I’m just as surprised to see her in this tucked-away corner of the gardens. They’ve changed the tracks and this part has become more isolated than I remember it. Back then, you’d see groups of runners clambering uphill, grunting, pausing to spit into the bushes or to re-tie their shoe laces.
There’s a moment in which we both eye each other carefully. She’s wearing black jeans and the kind of floaty black top all the young girls wear now. Incognito. I can see she’s considering whether to turn back or stay and share the bench with some random woman.