in scrolling through the 500+ photographs of my trip to the south island of new zealand, it is hard to discriminate which pictures to post and what memories to make public, which are for the world and which ones i want to tell you over some sort of beverage. some parts will inevitably fall in the margins of my notebook, but you should know this: every route was the scenic route, and when the mountains were too thick for radio reception, we sang our way through it all. and i will never forget the way it made me feel.

i want to write a poem for the seashells that get thrown back.