A ‘storm bomb’ hit New Zealand this weekend, hurtling across the Tasman Sea from Australia. We had planned to arrive at Half Moon Bay, where the class reunion was held, by ferry. ‘Not safe,’ decided my friend’s husband, who drove us there. The night was wild, the reunion intense, but we all made it, some from England, others from Australia, or the South Island.

 And the next morning, the marina was serene and calm. It was time to feel sadness for those who could not be there this time, including two who had died. This is our third gathering over the last six years, and the numbers are smaller on each occasion.

But the weather was glorious. On the other side of the storm lay a summer day, such as we have hardly seen when the official summer was here. We were able to take our boat trip to Waiheke Island, in the Hauraki Gulf, for a beach front lunch.

And to watch Rangitoto sliding past Motukorea,

the way our lives have slid into many new regions,

slipping out of sight, yet reappearing when we meet and remember not only the good times we had at our High School,

but the goodwill that is still present whenever we meet, despite the storms that we have faced in our lives.

And so, as the ferry sails back to Auckland, it’s goodbye again—until we meet in another two year’s time, hoping that we will all be there, in good health and spirits.