Monday, April 02, 2012
Present tense recovery
I'm in a hoody and track pants, and for good measure a scarf, the first time this autumn.
I noticed on the weekend that the fig tree is quickly losing its leaves: lying on the ground crumpled and clawed, like an ancient lady's hand, they are understandably vigourless.
The leaves on the peach tree are, also, making their transition to shades of red and golden yellow, beautifully stark against the green grass of their deathbed.
In 48-hours I'm leaving in my car, and heading for the KwaZulu-Natal north coast. To see Lee for one night, to briefly explore his world, and sample the humidity.
Then its southwards past Durban, to Hibberdene and Easter.
I'm craving: scouring my bare feet on grainy sea sand; deeply gulping in ocean-saturated-heavy air; having the warm and tumultuous Indian ocean crash-scurry-pummel my body, which is desperately craving nakedness, and exposure to the elements.
I'm in a recovery place. It's time to lie fallow: I'm leaving to see better, to regain the gift of perspective and, especially, hindsight.
And to centre me.
And to give thanks to the God of the entire universe; I'm alive.