17h00 - I am in my
room. There are zebras and impala outside my window, a host of mosquitos inside my window, and the power is out.
There is a holy hush and I listen to the sound of a bird whose song I have
never before heard. I feel as though I am intruding on an intimate moment and
then realise that all of life is made
up of intimate moments if only I am aware.
It thunders in the distance and begins to rain. The
electricity comes back on. Then
off. Then on again. It, too, seems to
join in the Love song by its staccatoed
entrances and exits. I do not sing, for it seems inappropriate to this passage of
music, but I am still very much a part of the song. I am engaged, even in my
silence.
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