From a province of rivers, another April

April was the longest month. It seemed to last forever, each day was open, elastic, filled with unexpected encounters, whence bubbled conversations resonant with possibility.

The sky was filled with clouds in all colours, shapes and sizes, freely embracing one another, texturing the airy canopy with endless dimensions. Vapour proffered fluffy lips coming together to kiss day after day.

Autumn sky over the Chintsa river. Photo by the author.

Ink flowed from the fountain pen and rains greened the hills. Sun warmed our backs and our bodies stocked up on the rays, as the mornings and evenings became chillier, energising us after the heavy heat of summer.

Then came the downpours, cackling into the potholes, mashing up farm tracks with wet abandon. And still the month was not done.

Butterfly with smiling wings,
sharing a rock shelter on the beach with me on 20th April 2025.
Photo by the author.

,

A dynamic state of peace

It is pouring loudly with rain. The clouds are united in a pure, white sky that has neither definition nor limits. Trees, bushes and pot plants are swaying, shaking and drooping, though the arum lily stands undaunted. The strings of rain are close together, there is unity, harmony in this hard, persistent dance. 

My mind's inner eye is occupied (literally). It is claimed by an image observed yesterday, outside my head, just like the rain today. It is an image of a family of Egyptian geese, led by the male, with Mom as the rearguard. 

Eight or nine goslings paddled for what they were worth through the windblown ripples of their home lake, keeping in perfect single file and so imprinting their live bodies into the 'duck(ling)s in a row', which now inhabit my head.

Once the parents had got them all safely to shore and, famished from their strenuous outing, they immediately began foraging in the grass, Dad raised himself to his full height, stretched and shook his splendid wings, pushing out his chest with its dark brown medal in a momentary posture of proud glory.

Mom had meanwhile flown to perch upon a railing to groom herself in private, as it were, taking some time out from the family.

* * *

In the aftermath of a sorrowful division between dear friends and fellows of mine (a situation which remains painfully raw and as yet unresolved), the undemarcated sky and rain, the disciplined little goslings and their steady parents offer an objective correlative to my inner state: I have taken a stance that is aligned with my heart, mind, body and soul. My friends know where I stand and, most importantly, I know where I stand.

Balance is a dynamic state of peace. I wish this for each individual member of my great and varied human family.

Photo: thanks to Ken Barris

Safe, Honeymoon Suite, Outeniqua Moon

I've been, yet again, spoiled by my friends, Christine and Peter Watt of Outeniqua Moon Percheron Stud Farm in Ruiterbos at the foot of the Robinson Pass. These pictures show a little of their sanctuary. The poem appeared this morning, following a visit to Shadowfax and Greystoke, the farm's two stallions.

Safe
Honeymoon Suite, Outeniqua Moon

Folds of light
stand to attention -
hold the festoon-blinds in place
so dawn can splice
their sleepy silk;

frogs' clickings sprinkle us;
everything is fat with rain -
the very air's drenched in dreams

tongued by the soft lips
of the stallions I spoke to;

their nostrils took in my glove,
their mouths told us
the future has remained -

it has survived into this morning's private gold -
safe from betrayal.

Shadowfax and Greystoke, the two Percheron studs at Outeniqua Moon

Shadowfax and Greystoke

The farmhouse

Shadowfax

Greystoke

Sunset last night

Cape Rain on the Road

The red and brown summer fields
- dead from the drought they endured -
are dark

with wet -
as if they were blushing with
expectation.