Some Saturdays I would take a break from my studies, and accompany my family to the Saturday Farmer's Market.
It is such a joy to walk between the stalls, weaving through people, conversations, smells of hot pizza ovens, and the wafting lyrics of a busker with a guitar.
The fresh produce is every changing, with misshapen organic oranges in the summer, and giant fronds of silver kale in the winter.
Then there are the ol' faithfuls - the pie cart, the juice place, and the woman selling Lebanese pastries and pickled vine leaves.
Each person is a beautiful sight to behold at the Farmer's Market. A lady with purple tinged hair and wearing all red carries a straw basket full of carrots. A group of young beatniks congregate to talk academics by the coffee cart. Near the cheese stall, there is meeting between a grey haired man in a smart bowler hat, and a woman with a scarf that is all the colours of the rainbow. She is rolling a trolley bag to and from her house, to fill with a week's worth of groceries.
I am not so pragmatic, and all my money seems to disappear, only to reappear in the form of a very full stomach and empty tote bags.
All photos were taken at the Otago Farmer's Market, which happens each Saturday beside the Dunedin Railway Station.
