This morning my housemate, her leg still bandaged, left for the short sea cruise with a friend who has a severely degenerative illness and would not dare travel without Una. The latter is in great spirits and has a jaunty new cap in nautical stripes. I am vaguely woried about tsunamis, pirates and shipwrecks. She is hoping the captain has a glad eye for a fine woman.
There are veld fires burning all across the mountains in the heat and when we went out yesterday, the air was hazy with smoke and fragments of ash everywhere. The food at the restaurant was delicious but all I really wanted was a large jug of water with ice cubes and slices of lemon. Thirst is just thirst these days.
Outside in the garden the purple figs are clustered thickly on the tree and I go out to pick them each evening. Lilac spires of plectranthus are coming up like pale candles under the trees and the New Moon in Pisces is just a curved fingernail in the skies.
There is so much to be grateful for I don’t know where to start.
The poet Robert Herrick (1591-1674) : “‘Tis a fast to dole thy sheaf of wheat and meat unto the hungry soul. It is to fast from strife and old debate, and hate; to circumcise thy life. To show a heart grief-rent; to starve thy sin, not bin; and that’s to keep thy Lent”.