Twas in the merry month of May

To clarify, this the merry month of May was in the southern hemisphere and not north of the equator where, according to Joan Baez “the green buds all were swelling”.

In our part of the world May brings with it the first whisper of a cold breath, the grasslands become a golden carpet and the sky fades (just a little) to a pale blue.
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Some of the trees lose their swagger, fire is a great leveller, but retain a mysterious air with a life time of stories to tell.

“Autumn burned brightly, a running flame through the mountains, a torch flung to the trees.” Faith Baldwin, American Family

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You can hear the silence

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 And the sun was bold and brassy and the geese slumbered in the reeds, orange beaks in white puffy feathers

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 Then the breeze came up, ruffling the water and chasing the sunlight through the pine trees

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The moon was early too, appearing shyly in the pale turquoise sky

And you could hear the silence, a vast expanse of solitude – utter bliss.

A little cottage by the lake

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The photograph was taken in the KwaZulu midlands last year, the story is just that – a story.

The creak of her chair woke her up. She started, caught in the threads of a wonderful dream. A dream where Jimmy was still here, where she would step out on the porch and see him tying up at the jetty and come striding through the wildflowers, home to her.

The sadness gripped her heart, now all she had was his chair. It matched hers exactly, he had thought she was a silly goose when she insisted on a pair but now it made her smile. She could see the sag in the strapping and the shiny patina on the arms, the only visible signs of the passage of time and a lifetime of being together.

Not always happy times she thought as she struggled to her feet, the war and the depression had taken their toll but they’d stuck together through all of it. Jimmy would have liked today, the water was quiet and the mist rolling slowly down the hills like someone was shaking out a blanket. What did he used to call it, like a painting by van Gogh or something like that. He was a dreamer, was her Jimmy. She shivered, suddenly overtaken by a cold gloom and wrapped her shawl around her thin shoulders. The sky was darkening and over the way she could see the cows turning for home.

Time to go inside, she thought, tomorrow she would be back tomorrow.

Five Photographs – Image 1

This was taken on a walk to the river on Saturday afternoon, what caught my eye about this scene was the gorgeous light filtering through the trees. We normally visit this part of South Africa in the winter for the stark contrast that the season brings but being here in the summer just adds a whole different dimension to the surroundings.