somewhere in the snow a woman beats a drum, lights a fire, crouches low to feed her gods – says a prayer for us. says you have to live first – be alive before you can give yourself to the world somewhere in the sea a girl speaks quiet on a boat atlantic rocked, holds…
in the mountains of our childhood there are stone sun paths, made by smaller feet than ours, that run contours through the bristle brush and crushed scent of fynbos. bright paths of wild lobelia and small bulbs exploding colour with names like beautiful women. paths that skirt boulders, sandstone giants skitting with small lizards in…