Show it in 10: Egyptian Goose

17 Sep

Very common resident… Male hisses… Female utters a grunting honk… Both give rapidly repeated honks at take-off…

Every kiss

12 Sep

 

Every kiss sends a message

This one says “hello”

 

Every kiss sings a song

This one is “For the first time”

 

Every kiss tells a story

This one is one of infectious love

 

Every kiss has its magic

This one is spectacular

 

Every kiss leaves a memory

This one is everlasting

 

Every kiss is full of promise

This one springs eternal

 

Every kiss sends a message

That one was “goodbye”

 

© LIRYN DE JAGER

The sky

11 Sep

The last 24 hours in reverse in the sky… Sunset over the ocean… Sunrise over the mountains… Super moon in the night… Nature marches to her own illuminated beat…

Images: LIRYN DE JAGER

I’m walking

9 Sep

my walk2

I unlock the security gate and open the sliding door. The  early morning air is cool, not cold, refreshing. I turn  around, close the security gate and shut the sliding door.  It is Monday morning and I’m walking.

I stroll till the end of the driveway and turn left into  Hanepoot Street. (For those not familiar with the name,  it’s a variety of grape.)

At the end of the road, I take a left. It seems to be the theme this morning, left and then left again.

It appears most people have left for work already; the streets are quiet on the first day of the week. I take a look down Barbarossa as I pass. Can’t say that it looks different than the last time, but also not that it looks the same. I ponder if the people who live on Barbarossa notice it too, or don’t notice it for that matter.

A block on, I take a left, again, into Hanepoot. It’s a circular road that swings all the way around and back to where I excited the driveway.

Hearing a couple of crows squawking above, my eyes follow them for a while against the crisp blue sky. Magical mist clouds cover the lower slopes of the mountains at the end of my field of view. I wonder what is hidden below.

I cross Barlinka and Tokay. The sound of a plane makes me look up this time. I hear it before I see it. I wonder where it’s off to.

At nr 18, construction services are offered, We take care of all your building needs. Two big green gates silently swing open at nr 40; the white reverse lights ignite on a vehicle.

A fellow morning walker approaches from the front, three dogs of varying size on some leashes. I wave good morning, she smiles.

After Alphonse and Isabella, I take a right, not a left, into Sultana, another variety of grape. The smell of freshly cut grass surrounds me. A vehicle with trailer and Garden Services painted on the side is parked at the curb.

A coral tree, covered in bright orange flowers, throws a shadow over the front lawn of nr 24. Two thick-knees (birds) cross the road. Spring is in the air.

Red and white danger tape and a lone orange traffic cone surround a hole in the pavement in front of nr 28. It appears a water pipe burst, maybe over the weekend; the municipality will probably send someone out later today.

The green portable toilet is still in front of nr 8. At least I assume its nr 8, there’s no sign, but 6 is the home/house before and 10 the one after. The owners are re-modelling. I wonder when they will be finished. They are moving ahead though, the walls are higher than last time.

I round the corner and take a left, again, back into Hanepoot, cross the road to the other side and back up the driveway.

I open the sliding door (it’s squeaking, needs some oil), unlock the security gate and check the time. It’s less than half an hour since I left. I thought I was away longer, it certainly felt like that.

I should have kept on walking…

 

©LIRYN DE JAGER

Show it in 10: Splish, splash

4 Sep

All creatures wild and wonderful have taken to the splendid sunny spring weather here in Cape Town… Including olive thrush and co… Utter delight!

Images: LIRYN DE JAGER

Tell me how, Mister

3 Sep

She says she’s in a whole lot of trouble

But it’s not the kind with the law or with a man

It’s not like that at all

It’s with myself, Mister

 

She says she can’t remember when it started

Or maybe it’s just always been like that

And now I’m running scared

Afraid of myself, Mister

 

Because how do you trust a head full of doubt

How can you believe a broken heart

Tell me, tell me how

 

She says she doesn’t know how to hold on

It’s just too damn difficult to try

I don’t see the light anymore

I’m by myself, Mister

 

Because how do you trust a head full of doubt

How can you believe a broken heart

Tell me, tell me how

Mister, tell me, tell me how

 

© LIRYN DE JAGER

My notebook

2 Sep

 

??????????????????????????????? With an uninterrupted view of the Atlantic  Ocean, I ordered a glass of chardonnay  and a plate of grilled calamari. The sun  was shining; it was a crystal clear spring  day.

I took out my notebook and camera, laid  it beside the glass. I took a savoring sip,  picked up the camera, snapped a few  frames, opened the notebook.

The calamari arrived. I pushed the  notebook aside, squeezed fresh lemon  over the cubes, added some ground  pepper. I looked up; taking in my  surroundings, life was good.

One scoop of chocolate-mocha gelato hit the sweet spot.

A brief interruption as two ladies leaving paused at my table. Touching my shoulder, the one asked:

“Are you a writer?”

“Well yes, mam, I am.”

“I thought so,” she said, “have a nice day.” They left.

What was it? Was it the black notebook and the camera? Was it the gazing at the water, followed by scribble-scratch-scribble? What was it?

You believe it for the briefest of moments. Then you don’t. You know it’s a long shot. That’s where the magic happens.

 

©LIRYN DE JAGER