Durban botanic garden

After two weeks spent along the golden coastline, I chose to say goodbye to Durban in a number of ways yesterday. One of then was to visit the botanical gardens, the oldest surviving one in Africa, for the first time.
I'm surprised and sorry that I've not been there before.
I'm a sentimental person and gardens always allow me to sense the pulse of a place I've visited, in particular a place that I've thrown myself into enjoying.
I met journalist Patricia Mackracken there; we had originally bonded in Maputo's derelict but grand botanical garden way back in 2006.
Yesterday we were able to celebrate how vastly improved our lives are since that meeting, which developed into a wonderfully batty friendship.
At the time we were both trapped in corporate prisonships more commonly known as 'a career'.
Life is a lot more beautiful. And I'm free.

Frost

The grass outside is white with frost for a second morning in a row. The field in front of the house is glinting white in the first light; if you were from northern parts you'd be forgiven for thinking it's snow.
The sun has not yet risen, but I'm lying in bed writing my mining pages. I have lit the fire and it's roaring warmth is heating my body, mind and spirit.
The newspaper, except for a few tweaks, was wrapped by 21h00 last night, but with much fun and laughter; I am assembling a team of fine, good people.
It's another beautiful day in the heart of Mpumalanga.

Blackbird has spoken

Morning has broken.
The first frost fell last night, but fortunately it wasn't a black frost.
The fireplace in my bedroom is a meter from my bed, I've had it roaring, cracking and popping since 5h30.
The sun has just blazed above the trees on my horizon; my bedroom faces due east.
My black cat, basking in the new light, is talking to me as if there is no tomorrow; this could almost be Narnia.
In 90 minutes we will see the first meeting of the entire team in our new, work-in-progress newsroom.
We finalise our June edition of the newspaper today. It should take the entire day. I am excited about it. By tonight it will ready for the printers in Johannesburg.
In terms of this space - my blog - I have been silent. I have been ill, I have been incredibly challenged, facing both personal and professional obstacles beyond my imagination. I stared into the abyss, facing fear and failure in the face. This time has been of my darkest.
Yet morning has broken and life is still gut wrenchingly beautiful, and my faith remains steadfast, thank God.
Happy Friday.

Saturday morning

Thank You for the simple, deeply satisfying pleasure of sitting on a couch in the sun on a winter's morn, across from a fast-asleep black cat, while writing words, drinking coffee, and listening to the deep silence of a sleepy rural town.

When the wind blows

The wind is gusting.
Something is rattling outside, it sounds like tin against a wall.
The neighbour's wind chimes are doing what they have done best for the last four and a half years.
The succulent propagated from Kaapsehoop and planted in a mug is flowering. The fine pink flowers remind that I live in a space of miracles.
I'm in the bath reading and telling the truth.
But I wish I was walking into the ocean.

False and real artists

Its dusk and I'm re-reading Dorothea Brande's classic Becoming a Writer. I bought the paperback in Edinburgh way back in the September of 1989.
I'm loving one of her definitions of a writer:
"The picture of the artist as a monster made up of one part vain child, one part suffering martyr, and one part boulevardier [most definitely my word of the day] is a legacy to us from the last century, and a remarkably embarrassing inheritance. There is an earlier and healthier idea of the artist than that, the idea of the genius as a man more versatile, more sympathetic, more studious than his fellows, more catholic in his tastes, less at the mercy of the ideas of the crowd.
The grain of truth in the fin de siècle notion, though, is this: the author of genius does keep till his last breath the spontaneity, the ready sensitiveness, of a child, the 'innocence of eye' that means so much to the painter, the ability to respond freshly and quickly to new scenes, and to old scenes as though they were new; to see traits and characteristics as though each were new minted from the hand of God instead of sorting them quickly into dusty categories and pigeon-holing them without wonder or surprise; to feel situations so immediately and keenly that the wore 'trite' has hardly any meaning for him; and always to see 'the correspondences between things' of which Aristotle spoke two thousand years ago. This freshness of response is vital to the author's talent."

Playing with Instagram

(see full image)

Pavilion view

The photos are of Durban's Pavilion shopping centre at sunset, taken when I was on my way to Joburg late on Wednesday. The light enthralled me.
Today I've spent indoors. From where I'm sitting now I can see that most of the leaves have fallen from the pomegranate tree in the front garden, those that are left are yellow.
Leaves are also fluttering from the peach trees at the back and the grass on the mountain's no longer green.
It's a moody winter's afternoon, cool but not cold enough to light the wood stove in the kitchen.

Durban botanic garden

After two weeks spent along the golden coastline, I chose to say goodbye to Durban in a number of ways yesterday. One of then was to visit the botanical gardens, the oldest surviving one in Africa, for the first time.
I'm surprised and sorry that I've not been there before.
I'm a sentimental person and gardens always allow me to sense the pulse of a place I've visited, in particular a place that I've thrown myself into enjoying.
I met journalist Patricia McCracken there; we had originally bonded in Maputo's derelict but grand botanical garden way back in 2006.
Yesterday we were able to celebrate how vastly improved our lives are since that meeting, which developed into a wonderfully batty friendship.
At the time we were both trapped in corporate prisonships more commonly known as 'a career'.
Life is a lot more beautiful. And I'm free.

Tea x2 for 1

Fourno's bakery, Benmore: It's a magnificent Highveld morning in Johannesburg, with just a hint of winter in the air.
I drove into this city at midnight but was sitting here by seven.
This is the way I strive to begin my day more often than not. And always green tea before my coffee day begins.
And preferably, like now, brilliant morning sunshine massaging my back and shoulder muscles.
I have to be at university at 11h00; I'm striving to complete the research project of my MA by next month. It's a long story...very long.
Then I'm driving home; it's been a long time and I need to regroup and centre myself in the space that's mine - in the eye of the storm that's life.

Colour of the day

Today my colour for the day was bronze. I could not believe my luck when this wonderfully old and tired bronze BMW pulled out in front of me as I entered this avenue of Plane trees in their bronzed autumn beauty.  Of course you had to be there... ha-ha.

Pavilion

Joburg today: It's a beautiful winter's day here, except that unlike Durban there is an iciness in the air and the grass is going brown; and stunningly beautiful red, yellow and gold leaves are falling from the trees. 

Which makes me just a little bit sad...

I'm very sentimental: landscapes, people and seasons drive my emotions. Autumn is always a time of retrospect for me. It's a reminder of the passing of time, that everything in nature must have its birth/spring, followed by summer. Then of course it must reach the autumn of it's life cycle, before returning to nature and the earth in its winter.

It's not a bad sad, but merely a reminder that I must live deeply, passionately and intensely because life is short and all things must pass.

And now I must head home and so begin a new chapter of my life. 

Autumn and winter is very pronounced where I live, unlike in Durban.

Blue skies

The journalism and media studies faculty at WITS University is up there. Braamfontein has new life as an urban space, and in turn I'm comfortable in my skin there.

Seek the light. Always.

Taking stock

It's been a few days of madness, my mind's been overwhelmed on many dark, negative levels; I've allowed a blackness to swamp me.
Then, last night, I flipped the switch with a prayer for the strengthening and renewing of my mind. I forget that constant vigilance is needed. Never let your guard down.
I slept in peace. Then as I awoke I closed some of the doors I've opened while on the edge of this particular abyss. I've learnt that doors have to be shut closed, then locked. You can never allow yourself the luxury of leaving them even slightly open. Slightly open or fully open is still open.
So, back to my normal routine I was up with the sun this morning, and went straight to work. Then a kilometer walk down to the ocean and now I'm down at the beach having breakfast and a most welcome cappuccino.
It's a magnificent day. I've taken my shirt off and I'm basking in the sun while eating. My worries seem evaporated. I'm energizing myself and taking stock. Afterwards I'm going to cleanse myself in the mighty ocean. On my knees in the sand I will also seek strength and courage for my life journey, and that I might walk it with integrity.
Thank You for the gift of this perfect day.

Umhlanga, KZN, this morning...

Breakfast at Tiffany's?

It's the most beautiful day. Actually it's indescribable. I was up for the airport before 3h30am and was walking the Umhlanga coastline by 8. I walked from the lighthouse northwards as far as I could, eventually taking off my t-shirt and walking through the surf.
My skin is soaking up the sunshine and is manufacturing great doses of vitamin D on my behalf.
This section of the Indian Ocean is a warm 24 degrees centigrade today, who could ever believe this is winter?
Now I'm sitting at the Wimpy about to begin work on my laptop. Breakfast is on the way.
Today is just what I needed.