We seem very far from the 4th of July. But I did dream that I tried to sing The Star Spangled Banner (whose words had changed), in a country of refugees on the move where an Apocalyptic event had taken place. In the end one girl's voice sang it above the silenced and confused crowd, the only one who knew the way forward.
I blame the quiet nights of Constantia for serious REM sleep.
The corgis have grown a little...fat...since the last time I saw them. And by the time I have reached the halfway mark of a very modest walk along the Alphen Trail they are looking weary. Corgi bootcamp is just getting started.
This is the Cape winter. Wet and green. With flowers that betray a sense of spring.
After our most recent Harlem winter, when the toilet seat froze our bottoms, our teeth chattered in bed, and we ate dinner in wool socked feet, this weather, dipping into the 40's at night, seems balmy. My mom and Selina keep asking if I'm not cold. No! I say, looking at their sweatered layers with some surprise.
I made a pilgrimage on Vince's behalf to the Cape dwarf chameleons.
Under tall stone pines I found patches of Oxalis purpurea, identifed with the help of iSpot. This part of the Cape is considered an Oxalis hotspot and I had no idea how complicated they can be.
Near them grew beautiful and petite Romulea flava. This greenbelt is under siege by aggressive alien plants, from Acanthus, bugweed and cannas, to smothering nasturtiums and morning glory. This sweet little indigenous colony of plants is, sadly, an exception to the exotic rule.
Up here, the land is raised and water flows away. Streams drop from the mountain and click frogs click all night. Fresh firewood is delivered and woodsmoke perfumes the daytime house.