I always hear it before my eyes find it; that sound, the jostling of smooth tide beaten rocks underneath the cold waves that wash onto the shoreline. I breathe out, and the rocks exhale with me. Breathe in, they sing as my lungs fill with air. My ears focus on the wholeness of the sound and I feel peaceful again. Just 16 kilometers outside of Wellington, I have found myself at Makara on this day made of sunshine. My spirit lifts with the incoming waves, and I feel my center come back. Being inside of the city makes it hard to catch my breath at times. The hike was a short six kilometers, made of rocky ocean, cerulean water, sheep, and gorse covered mountains. On this day, the clouds are not descending on us, and the South Island juts out distinctly behind the Cook Strait. The ferry pushes through the choppy sea en route to Picton. After a steep ascent, we lay in the swaying grass. "How good to have reached Heaven. We're ever so thirsty." And it is. Heaven is here, under our feet, as well as in front of our eyes.