‘So botany, ethno botany, tikanga Māori, colonial history … That is quite a journey,’ the librarian said, his face professionally closed once more. ‘I hope you’re not working to a deadline.’

‘I’m not,’ I replied.

He patted the volume. ‘Do you want to see Taylor’s entry for the recipe before you start?’

‘No, thanks. It’s okay.’

He sighed. ‘I won’t leave this out for you, then. I’ll reshelve it.’

As I walked home I saw that the trip to the library had done me good. It seemed as if a faint trace of order was beginning to return to my life. My future, still uncertain, was not as frightening. I’d started to make decisions, to regain control and a sense of purpose. I was no longer tumbling around feeling lost but had begun to move forward at a gentle speed I could sustain. Yes, I would learn about plants, but it wasn’t a race and I had nothing to prove. I didn’t have to become an expert. I would take my time, my whole life if necessary, and allow the knowledge to grow, slowly and steadily, naturally. It would enter me, like breath and scent.

I could hear the protest before I could see it. A distorted voice calling through a megaphone and the roar of the crowd’s response, ‘Shame, shame, shame!’ I hurried up the hill, joining a stream of people all headed in the same direction. Some kept to themselves and looked downcast, but others formed lively groups, holding banners between them and chanting as they marched ahead. When I reached the main campus I joined the back of a large mass of people. Voices came from all directions, a chorus gathering momentum in its rallying cry of ‘Save the humanities!’, ‘Arts not cuts!’

A young woman representing the trade union climbed onto the stage and everyone clapped and shouted. Then she launched into an angry and impassioned speech about abuse of power, workers’ rights and the necessity for the humanities. As she finished by declaring that an attack on the humanities was an attack on thinking that threatened the very core of learning and education, a cry of support went up and the crowd erupted in cheers. These were quickly replaced by loud booing as the pro-vice-chancellor took the stage. He looked as arrogant as I remembered, and as he spoke about the university’s commitment to the arts the booing grew in strength and a chant of ‘Shame, shame, shame!’ drowned him out. In one brief lull, I heard him sputter, ‘The changes we make now will save the arts in the future’, but his words were met with ‘Liar, liar, liar!’ and soon that was all I could hear.

It began to rain, warm, heavy drops falling straight down, saturating us within minutes. Umbrellas appeared, giving the crowd a colourful, festive appearance, and I found myself being pushed closer towards the stage as those around me adjusted their positions, moving to find shelter under awnings and trees. I found a spot beneath a group of gums. Their long strips of bark had been raked and heaped into an untidy mound, and I reached down and absent-mindedly picked up a handful of gumnuts.