rain fall from concrete coloured skies

I'm aware that Bic Runga's "Drive" is a New Zealand music cliche. It's a Nature's Best compilation, Sunday afternoon trapped in front of Squeeze, half an hour waiting on the line to StudyLink while you panic over the missed student allowance payment.

"My head's so heavy -- could this be all a dream?"

But I can't help it. It sounds like New Zealand to me. It sounds like 8mm film, like being nostalgic for a moment that's happening right in front of you.

"Let rain fall from concrete coloured skies"

And you can hear the soft New Zealand rain, the damp, wet ferns, the warm grey clouds hanging above your streets. The rain falls. It's always falling.

That sense of stillness, isolation, empty, boring, alone. Standing on a bridge in Hamilton, with only cars going past. No one walking, jogging -- just you. The river goes by underneath. Brown, muddy. The horizon is a neat triangle of river, trees, and bridge. Nothing blocks out the sun except the clouds, and there's so many clouds. That's one thing I miss. Clouds.