Rainy Days and Mondays
I woke up this morning to the sounds of rain, not an unusual occurrence here at the end of the world, but there seemed to be something different today. Unlike most rainy mornings this morning was not cold, windy and dull when all you want to do is stay under the covers reading a decent piece of literature denying the existence of the dreary outside world. There have been many winter days when I have not opened the curtains in an attempt to keep the dreariness on the outside. Today had a different feel to it, perhaps it was the fact that it was light outside and the air wasn't icy, but today was reminiscent of a rainy spring morning back home.
The Mauritian often tells me to stop referring to South Africa as home because I am only prolonging the feelings of home sickness that afflict me daily. I suppose in a way he is right, we chose to uproot ourselves and resettle at the end of the world. We were looking for a different way of life, a new way of doing things and, in some way, a new home. But how can I be expected to not call the only home I ever knew anything but home? I am a South African born and bred and proud of it! There is no better weather then Durban weather, even those debilitating midsummer days are missed during the arctic cold winters at the end of the world. There have been days here when it has rained so hard that I have understood where the term “sheets of rain” originated, but nothing is as breath taking as an African thunderstorm. That feeling on your skin as the breeze cools down, the burning sun is covered in sinister looking rain clouds and the sudden silence of the birds as the earth holds her breath. Then the clouds are split by lightening and the earth breaths again as the thunder rumbles through the air bringing the rain. I have spent many hours of my life watching these storms, marvelling in their beauty and tried unsuccessfully to capture them in a poem. Then as suddenly as it started it is over, the sun is restored to its former brightness and everyone goes back to the chores of day to day life. But there is a different smell in the air, everything has been washed clean and refreshed. After an African storm there is a feeling of renewal. It is invigorating!
Here at the end of the world when the day dawns grey and wet the day sets dreary and cold, everything smells mouldy, damp and old and no one has any desire to move. We have spent many winter nights wrapped in layers of clothing huddled under a mountain of blankets wondering what it is we are doing here and why we are putting ourselves through this. Then one morning dawns bright and warm with soft rain falling on our colourful spring garden, the curtains are flung open and there just beyond the shimmering white on Mt. Taranaki is a tiny blue patch of sky promising sun. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes I go from room to room opening windows, allowing the cool morning air into our home and the stale is chased air out. With a cup of coffee in hand I stand on our veranda and watch the sky change from dull grey to azure blue, watch the colours in the garden brighten as the flowers lift their heads towards the sun. There is a chorus of bird song greeting the day, the squawk of an Indian Mynar nesting in our garage roof and the buzz and flutter of bumble bees and butterflies. Then I noticed a smell, new and fresh, the smell of spring!
South Africa will always be my home. It is in my blood, a part of me of who I am. I will always miss her beauty and her ugliness. South Africa is the centre of my family and friends that have spread out across the world. It is the place we all eventually go back to, if only for a short period of time. It is where my memories begin. I will always call South Africa home because that is what it is. But this morning as I watched my little piece of earth come alive I realised that here was home too. There is a different type of beauty here unique to anywhere else and all I have to do is free up a space in my mind so my eyes can see what is there behind the curtains.
For the rest of my life I will miss my home, but for the rest of my life I will discover the new and unusual things unique to our little piece of the earth here at the end of the world.
The Mauritian often tells me to stop referring to South Africa as home because I am only prolonging the feelings of home sickness that afflict me daily. I suppose in a way he is right, we chose to uproot ourselves and resettle at the end of the world. We were looking for a different way of life, a new way of doing things and, in some way, a new home. But how can I be expected to not call the only home I ever knew anything but home? I am a South African born and bred and proud of it! There is no better weather then Durban weather, even those debilitating midsummer days are missed during the arctic cold winters at the end of the world. There have been days here when it has rained so hard that I have understood where the term “sheets of rain” originated, but nothing is as breath taking as an African thunderstorm. That feeling on your skin as the breeze cools down, the burning sun is covered in sinister looking rain clouds and the sudden silence of the birds as the earth holds her breath. Then the clouds are split by lightening and the earth breaths again as the thunder rumbles through the air bringing the rain. I have spent many hours of my life watching these storms, marvelling in their beauty and tried unsuccessfully to capture them in a poem. Then as suddenly as it started it is over, the sun is restored to its former brightness and everyone goes back to the chores of day to day life. But there is a different smell in the air, everything has been washed clean and refreshed. After an African storm there is a feeling of renewal. It is invigorating!
Here at the end of the world when the day dawns grey and wet the day sets dreary and cold, everything smells mouldy, damp and old and no one has any desire to move. We have spent many winter nights wrapped in layers of clothing huddled under a mountain of blankets wondering what it is we are doing here and why we are putting ourselves through this. Then one morning dawns bright and warm with soft rain falling on our colourful spring garden, the curtains are flung open and there just beyond the shimmering white on Mt. Taranaki is a tiny blue patch of sky promising sun. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes I go from room to room opening windows, allowing the cool morning air into our home and the stale is chased air out. With a cup of coffee in hand I stand on our veranda and watch the sky change from dull grey to azure blue, watch the colours in the garden brighten as the flowers lift their heads towards the sun. There is a chorus of bird song greeting the day, the squawk of an Indian Mynar nesting in our garage roof and the buzz and flutter of bumble bees and butterflies. Then I noticed a smell, new and fresh, the smell of spring!
South Africa will always be my home. It is in my blood, a part of me of who I am. I will always miss her beauty and her ugliness. South Africa is the centre of my family and friends that have spread out across the world. It is the place we all eventually go back to, if only for a short period of time. It is where my memories begin. I will always call South Africa home because that is what it is. But this morning as I watched my little piece of earth come alive I realised that here was home too. There is a different type of beauty here unique to anywhere else and all I have to do is free up a space in my mind so my eyes can see what is there behind the curtains.
For the rest of my life I will miss my home, but for the rest of my life I will discover the new and unusual things unique to our little piece of the earth here at the end of the world.
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