A Winter Whisper To that storm, brushing past our rocky Cape, people are mere wild, blind ants, scurrying beetles from a carefree shadow, gleams of glass as they swirl, shrink vanish, the crystal of caddis-fly larvae. She lashes a frayed electric hem, shaving time from the mountain and then pauses the turmoil to listen, a naked poet climbs a rooftop in Oranjezicht and screams wet, wordless joy. The neighbours heard despair in the keening wind, but she captured every molecule of sweet madness, mad flow gathering, just so the alchemy of fynbos-scent fragments of fractured Karoo seeds of the dreamlands to lay lattice gently, a delicate clarity of perfect cold, on my slumbering garden.
Posted on: Thu, 14 Aug 2014 10:38:18 +0000
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