Waikato taniwharau, he piko he taniwha, he piko he taniwha*

This is a brief glimpse of a high school photography project that never was. Problem number one -- I had no car; problem number two -- subject clashes meant I never actually took photography back at Macleans. The idea, then and now, was a photo essay on life and death on the Waikato river. The thing that had really caught my attention was the series of roadside crosses that can be found up and down State Highway One, the thought that someone's story had ended too abruptly. The people whose lives had ended on SH1, their stories had ened, but the end of their lives had inextricably linked them to the place - a place they didn't in fact belong to. Yes, this is sounding pretty morbid; just bear with me. In stark contrast with these roadside shrines is the Maori graveyard on Taupiri mountain, just out of Huntly. The people buried there belonged to that land - birth, life and death by the side of the Waikato. The river itself wove through their lives, now they watch over it. Ok, so before I was morbid, now I'm sickeningly metaphoric. It's hard to express in words. In photos, it would have been awesome. My photos are of the Taupiri cemetary, plus another cemetary past Taumaranui, which is dominated by the silhouette of Mt Tongiraro. The Taupiri ones turned out better than I could have ever hoped, considering they were taken from the window of a moring car. Hooray for the crappy little Coolpix!

*Waikato of a hundred taniwha, a taniwha on each bend//Waikato of a hundred chiefs, a chief on each bend