Tonight I'm a lonely moth contemplating winter. It's far away, but not that far away. The first light doesn't wake me up that early anymore; the brilliant December wide-eyed glare has passed with the midway mark. The sun is headed north to wake up the daffodil bulbs, to seek pure white skins.
I'm sitting in my underwear on the couch outside, just one dim light on and a moonlit, moody glow behind some angry cloud.
Crickets, lots of crickets, frogs up close. Mosquitoes, but not so bad this year..they got nailed by last year's bitter winter. Hooray.
Yeah I know: I've not blogged for almost 2 months now; sorry for me.
I need a holiday. I've taken, I'm taking strain. But it's good. For the first time in years I'm truly challenged; challenged where I want to be challenged.
[As I typed those words I heard an owl hooting somewhere close by, in the veld behind my home; calling my name. It sent a moonlight-gentle shiver down my spine and into my gut.]
Best of all I'm writing, almost hang-up free.
Also, most unexpectedly, and from an egoless perspective I'd never dreamed of, a prayer has been answered. I find myself at the cutting edge of journalism (very few, close ones only, will know - truly - what I mean).
In gratitude I go down on one knee... .
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