i wait with the night, face to the sky and rain that drifts like mist, for the call of the owl clear across the valley – and the answer that comes tree close and vivid with stars.
in the cold of morning, before light breaks the sky and stars return to the dark where they are born, i break the kindling set the logs conjure flame from a matchbox – and all the while two owls speak close their words smooth round like pebbles in deep water. i open the doors to…
it is a long night drive breath misting windows in hard flung rain headlights close in illuminating only what i need this bend this tree this cliff this loose pebbled road edge that drops into ravine this bushbuck on light feet leaving her spoor in the slip. it is a long night drive to fetch…