I have known for some time that there are hawks on the meadow. Some days I would hear a distinct cry from the tree tops and occasionally, be blessed with a rare glimpse. A solitary raptor returning from the hunt. The sudden, silent spreading of wings in hasty ascent as I turned a corner between the trees.
Stepping into the memory garden
I chanced upon a woman.
A woman? No!
Rather a girl.
I drove home from the appointment shell-shocked. At 46, I had just been told that I should never run again! It turned out that the back pain that had grown from a niggle to a whining complaint over the past twelve months was my spine letting me know that it had been invaded. Arthritis – advanced enough to be visible on a normal x-ray, – had taken up residence in my lower lumbar vertebrae (along with its companion – Spondylosis).
It’s winter in my home town, Cape Town, at present. Walking my two German Shepherd dogs on the mountain trails, I am fortunate enough to witness firsthand, nature in all her fury and finery. We have just endured a long drought on this piece of the planet. Water is a rare and precious commodity on the Southern tip of Africa and with even less rainfall than usual over the past eighteen months, I have watched the riverbeds dry out, the ravines turn to mud and then dry sand and the dogs have relied on me carrying water for them.