We were living off borrowed time

 Your presence is still here, the empty dog bed, the foot tread behind me. I turn, expecting to see your smiling face or your nudge beneath my elbow. Then I think of your freshly dug grave up in the back garden. Beside my other two precious pups, Jasper and Elsie. Soon to plant a yesterday, today and tomorrow bush and a deep crimson rose above you.

I wish your time here could have been longer and that you hadn't suffered before you went. My mum stayed up all night with you. I didn't. I had to teach the next day. I only am told of your sad, painful demise. I am so sorry.

Under the tree where the bees had been

 Dogs know when their time is near. King upped and went to the tall strelitzias yesterday. A spot hidden away. He had more or less stopped eating at this point and we sensed the end was near. I followed him and crouched by him, grieving my imminent loss.

He was my cuddle bear, ever gentle, soft and kind. My emotional support dog, confidant and friend. The antithesis of Jasper, my previous dog, but beautiful in so many other ways.

Today I said good bye to another animal soul mate. He will always be my very dear fur baby and steady pad foot friend.

Hope is not necessarily feathered

 In Zimbabwe, hope is not necessarily the thing with feathers on. It feels often more like the thing with crampons holding on, only just. The hope that your salary will stretch to month end. A street child hoping for a donation at the traffic intersection. Hope in the continuation of using the US dollar. Everyday hopes that there will be electricity and water. 

In scripture, faith, hope and love remain. Hope and faith build upon each other. A hope of a better afterlife and to take on life's challenges with perseverance. To not put one's faith in earthly things. To the average Zimbabwean though, I'd say put on those crampons and courage and fortitude.

Waiting for the rain

 The clouds are not yet in formation to bring rain and thunderstorms. They dissapate and are mere wisps. How long til the first downpour? Does it still need to be really warm?

My garden is thirsty. I should use more drought resistant plants. Instead of roses and agapanthus, succulents and bushveld.

The flies buzz and the heat forms a haze. Will we get good rains? It has been a drought year. When the municipal water goes, we wonder if this is it and if we'll have to buy water. We've been lucky but how long will it last? We need to rain harvest from our roof.

Stream of Consciousness

 The heat, it saps. My dog sits at my feet and snaps at flies. I must put on flysmear. If only flysmear worked to get rid of all things that bother and bite. I could do with some of that. A fruit chaffer zooms by. Bird song and an aeroplane. Things that I have to do later.

Friendship and writing. I should journal every day but I don't. Life gets busy and time goes by. Agapanthus, a deep blue. My doggie at my feet, faithful girl. I wonder where King has gone? Coffee and water. Two essentials to get through October.  Babblers in the background, come to see what is going on.

Summer

Blue skies before the rains, the building heat. Dust devils and dry leaves. Is it warm enough to swim yet? To plunge into the icy depths. At school we would have jumped in by now. Were we more inured to the cold?

Ice cream men and ice lollies. A bloody nose. Afternoon siestas. Endless watering of the garden. The jacarandas are starting. End of winter duvets. Gin and tonics with lots of ice. The return of the birds. Jasmine makes way for plumbago. Bush fires.

Stream of consciousness

 Sunshine, peeking through the banks of flowers. Snippets of conversation and laughter. Good friends, time to pause. Reflections in the glassware. A cockerel. The heat wafts on the breeze. Noise is not too intrusive. The swimming pool has gone.

The staff clear tables and patrol the garden. High heels on the paving. The high end. The breeze cools and caresses. Summer is here. Hollyhocks and the end of the camellias.