This is just mine

I'm all in black, except for my sneakers, which still have that crisp white quality about them. I pause for a pedestrian crossing and then dart out on to the road once I've caught the driver's eye, and I feel the first few droplets that the sky has been trying to squeeze out most of the afternoon. I think about my washing back on the line.

I don't see anyone until I stop at the entrance to the Gardens to stretch. Auspicious portent! I much prefer when the weather is dicey or it's the break of day or twilightish and there is hardly anyone around. It's just nice to escape pungent humanity and listen to your breathing and the birds for half an hour if you need to. It always surprises me how empty the Gardens are, as if people haven't cottoned on to it or just don't find it as magical as I do to run around and try and get a bit lost. I'm now under a dense canopy of bush and the air is suddenly electric with the pulsing of cicadas. I breathe deeply the smell of sultry, moist earth.

I've only been in for five minutes and I stumble across a wedding party. Brilliant! I try and skirt up the inside of the bare foot bride and her groom dutifully carrying her shoes but still end up dodging camcorders and cameras further up. I smile awkardly at the guests as I zig zag to avoid blocking their view and nearly crash into a small sculpture of a boy who at first glance I think is peeing, but he's actually just pouring a waterjug. Clever. I am resentful of these revellers and their attempt to take this moment away from me. Hey you - people in love, do you have to be so ostentatious about it?

I pass a besotted dad with his toddler splashing each other from opposites sides of the fountain. I only see the father's face as I run by, but I imagine the same childlike delight would be reflected in his son's face. For some reason I am affected by all this concentrated emotion and happiness and I feel my own wistfulness propel me forward and away and up hill.

I pass between mighty sentinel-like pines and come out at a crest with Wellington City below to my left and the Harbour glittering metallically beyond. But I can't make myself pause and inhale the view today, instead I patter down the steps towards the rose gardens and another freakin wedding. I take some solace in the fact that there aren't nearly as many roses out as when I was here less than a week ago. I don't stop and smell them. But I do, as always, slow reverently to a walk so as not to disturb the worshippers who move quietly amongst the plants with a camera, or sit sketching.

Entering the Serpent's trail the light is filtered out as the bush becomes more dense and I get a faint whiff of weed wafting up from the Dell below and smile. This is being at one with nature. But I have to concentrate on the steady incline and my breathing gets deeper and I glare around each corner daring anyone to interrupt my solitude. Then I am pulled up suddenly when I spot a full-rounded ebony breast with a white tufty beard in a lichen-encrusted tree. I listen to the Tui trill seductively for a moment, my temples throbbing now with exertion and the fabric of my pants is clinging to the back of my knees and calves. Then I'm off again. Further up I see a mother pointing out another Tui to her two small boys and feeling suddenly generous I tell her there is another one further up on her left.

When the gravel trail I'm on spills out on to one of the main crossroads I choose the same way I have countless number of times before. Sometimes I deliberately set out to find small unexplored tracks but today I have a purpose, blowing out cobwebs, and so;

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one more traveled by.

Anyway it's spitting with more determination now and I brush my damp hair back from my forehead. From some not too distant place I hear the exultant cries of a cricket team and I can tell it's not merely a brave effort to sway the Umpire but that someone must be walking by now. I'm drawing closer to civilisation and there are more people here. I am offended by those running with headphones on and knit my eyebrows at the Sunday-strollers rabbiting away on their cell phones. Can't you people be quiet and alone for half an hour? I try and still my mind to this, and the thoughts of the file I can't find at work, but I am almost to the Cable Car, and then I'm out on the road again, and I feel robbed. I push a little harder and each passing power pylon symbolises something I'm striking out at - but I know I'm being dramatic and haven't sincerely got anything to be angry about and soon run out of steam and slow to a walk. But I'm back in time to save my washing.