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‘Windsock’, that orange word flapping in a breeze that is constantly leaving and arriving, reaching as far as Australia then returning.

Our two-year-old son Felix has been obsessed with windsocks for some months now. We drive him across town to observe the windsock at the end of the Wellington International Airport runway as it tenses and relaxes, sways then is still. ‘Windsock’ was the third or fourth word he learnt to say.