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.