Tōtara, lake stone, copper
Once, this piece of tōtara stood as a fencepost weathered, split, and strong, part of the quiet framework that held a farm together. Years later, someone cut it down, kept a bit, passed it on. And then it became this.
Stacked on top: a small lake stone, found on the shores of Taupō. Purple, cream, and stubborn so hard it nearly refused a hole. But it gave way, just enough to hold a flicker of light.
It’s a small thing. Not trying to be more than it is.
But it holds story, and strength, and something of the land it came from.
Fencepost. Still standing. Just in a different way.
Tōtara, lake stone, copper
Once, this piece of tōtara stood as a fencepost weathered, split, and strong, part of the quiet framework that held a farm together. Years later, someone cut it down, kept a bit, passed it on. And then it became this.
Stacked on top: a small lake stone, found on the shores of Taupō. Purple, cream, and stubborn so hard it nearly refused a hole. But it gave way, just enough to hold a flicker of light.
It’s a small thing. Not trying to be more than it is.
But it holds story, and strength, and something of the land it came from.
Fencepost. Still standing. Just in a different way.
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