Above the trees there is only birdcall.
The pohutukawa are more crimson than Coca Cola's Santa Claus will ever be, mainly cos he ain't real, though you'd be hard pressed to convince the mall rats in the valleys of that right now.
Xmas splurges are taxing the punters and driving them to random acts of road rage and store front stampede. Boy do they know it's Xmas, or what? Collective amnesia consumes the consumers, they did this last year, right? It's easy for me to say -childless in the treetops- but I'm all for delaying Xmas shopping until the 26th when the stores reopen and the sales begin. Better still I like to ignore it all together except for the grub of course, I would miss rolling around like an overstuffed snake in front of the lamest TV the nation will have seen since last December.
Nah, a towel on the beach is the place to be. Lapping briny (no tsunami thanks God), rustling pohutukawas (just for effect), hot iron sand, turning red as a beet and therefore doing my bit for the spirit of Xmas.
Yo Ho Ho and a bottle of Corazon me hearties!
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