Standing in our garden on a Friday evening and looking out across our village, I tried to catch the moment in these brief words:
Evening falls and the village lights pierce the mellowing glow. Pink wispy clouds stretch themselves across the sky. Like a bright jewel the evening star gazes down, shy, but attentive. A traffic light in the distance blinks green, orange and red, a frail attempt at control in such vast beauty.
A Hadeda, as if voicing its sheer celebration of the past day, arrives, cries out and spirals down to roost. Then, the faint aroma of a braai (barbecue), and I am filled with gratitude and joy. It’s good to be alive.