Wednesday, January 09, 2013

Home alone

I'm back from my long walk along the ocean's edge and into the dusk. I needed quite time, alone time with me and my maker. I sought to be buffeted and torn at by the wind straight off the choppy sea. I sought to walk into the moody-rain-weather-storm that is forecast to arrive here tonight after its journey up the Eastern Cape coast, then today the Transkei and KZN south coast. The storm that's just begun to buffet this tree obscured and mysterious double story wooden house that I've so grown to love since I moved in here on 30 August last year. It's so different, and so is this world, to my home and former life in Waterval Boven.

The lights were on downstairs when I got back, wet with perspiration wrenched from me by the oppressive humidity. I could see the welcoming warmth of the home through the branches; there's no wall or fence separating the house from the street. And blonde Sasha came to the door, tail wagging, soft fur snout smiling.

The home, unusually empty and almost quiet, put arms around me. A sharp old fashioned click and the ancient blaring in the background hi-fi was off; silence, instantly, thank God.

Now, on the bed, I'm reading - in the warm light of my minimalist room - Dorothea Brande.

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