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Going Back

UnknownI’m not even going to apologise for the bold stealing of the idea for this post from my favourite blogger. He knows I’m an inveterate idea larcenist, but then maybe we all are after a fashion.

But on with the post. I have just got back to the UK after three weeks in South Africa and the feelings and thoughts these visits usually evoke haven’t settled down yet.

It was summer and hot and thundery, shade was at a premium. That sticky, heavy air oozed across the water barely lifting a ripple. Doves slept in the gum trees which sighed under the relentless beating sun. “I love it here so much,” I hear myself breathe. But it isn’t love: it’s essence, spirit, basis, being. And it’s hard and unforgiving and demanding and cruel. It makes you need it, but remains unmoved; it makes you long for it, but it doesn’t care if you leave; it hooks itself into you like a parasite that leaves you feverish and disconsolate.

I want to go back, but that would mean a kind of dying and I’m not ready for that.


Sir Lowry's across False Bay

Near Riviersonderend





2 responses »

  1. I know what you mean and can feel every word. The photos you posted also instil in me that sense of longing – reading your words and looking at the photos, I can almost hear and smell these scenes.

    So I’m still here in polluted, noisy, smelly Beijing where I dare not open the window as the smog outside smells so foul. But as you say, going back would be a kind of dying and I’m not ready for that. But I am ready for something other than this.

    • Dear Chris
      Thank you so much for your response. Indeed, I’m ready for something other too, but what it is eludes me. I guess you’re teaching in Beijing? A hard row to hoe, so far from the familiar.
      Take care


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