A storm brewed just outside the open doors: passionately moody elephant gray skies; a slapping, tetchy wind; rain drops that merely dirtied; an icy cold draft, as if the freezer had been left ajar.
But it was all bark, no bite.
The next day's headlines: 'Joburg cries out for rain'.
But I enjoyed Thursday's alfresco lunch. With goose flesh from the chill, the wind, the excitement - and sometimes, because of all of the above - I tucked my bare arms and legs into and against each other. Like I imagine a bird bracing itself against a hurricane would.
But still my soul is parched.