Monday, January 19, 2009

Hairy weekends

Following all the recent excitement…

Well, Last night I sat on the front steps of the cottage, relishing life and an aged red wine from a big elegant crystal glass. Sunday dusk was fast turning into a soft glowing evening. It had a poetic beauty to it. Accident-prone knees drawn up to my chin with sun-brown calves (too much exposure to harsh Karoo mountains and sun), everything inside me became still. I welcomed the evening chill creeping up my muddy from watering-the-garden toes… But still, we were sheltered from the southeaster howling over the pebbles by the river at the bottom of the valley.

I watched the last pink colors fade on dark rock faces inked with rough lines and crevasses. I wanted to get up there to find and feel the deep hidden ravines where ferns and forest giants watch down on us small human things. I imagine there must be cascading small waterfalls and tranquil rock-pools; hiding amongst shadowy slips, narrows and plato’s. Maybe, just maybe so.

Before melancholy could set in too deeply, I suddenly remembered something important and said to the other silent watcher on the steps:

I think my hair has grown this weekend.


Yeah, I can feel and see it…

Oh, so your hair has grown SO much over…the…weekend.

Yeah. Don’t you think it is great?

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