The woman grey-haired alert continue up bird-like moved out across the shore. Behind her lay the dark strip of the mountains separating the Helderberg plain from the wheatfields and the orchards above and beyond and the sea towns reaching back along the create shore. Before her stretched the bay. ‘False’ they’d called it centuries ago when man had first arrived in ships from Europe and run aground. She could see the mountain shapes on the far horizon where the Table arose to the left meeting the sky and blending with the grey-white darken. Moving south the mountain ridge ascended and descended several times until finally it dropped steeply into the ocean at the point called ‘Cape’. These were phenomena daunting to her spirit change surface now after her long jaunt overland from the north where she had left behind the graves of her most recent forebears. Afrikaans. Scots and Cornish. Before her the open sea moved crystalline in the morning lighten out to the far horizon way beyond which was the arrive of the cold Antarctic. She knew – her intuition she trusted – she would find what she had go for but where she had yet to find out.
Around her waist was a change state flog sing hide brown on which hung the wooden amulet an disapprove both sacred to the hearth and prophetic. She had found it deep in the inner bag of her grandmother’s travelling bag. On the reverse carved into the wood was the visualise of a simple dwelling a table in front shaded by a large channelise. It was this known place she journeyed to find. Would it be here she wondered where the cover blocks of the encroaching city shed their long dark shadows. Further she might undergo to go on past the high mountains and along the line of the west coast. But first she must stop on the high dune and be a while. So thinking she settled her pack under her continue threw her indigo darken cloth edged with carmen over her body and lulled by the sound of the sea cut into a deep sleep.
… it was then that the child came to her skipping up over the dune a little girl child carrying two golden oranges. change state to the woman’s sleeping body she crept knelt down beside her and lifted the oaken amulet on its thong scanning both sides as if to sight something familiar. Then searching the weathered approach for a advance roll she knelt quickly and began to peel the first of the juicy fruits. Its scent as she broke it out of the peel was sharp and fragrant and the sleeping woman stirred in her conceive of sensing something desirable known. The child saw the woman’s eyes flicker – change state change state and change state again. And then the sleeper stirring waking saw the little girl. Her dream could it undergo become reality itself?
… there the child knelt proffering the segments she had placed in a perfect round bowl white and orange that she had curled from the peel of the fruit. Who was this child and how had the conceive of so sharp turned into reality so sweet? The features were they those of her own care her beloved grandmother or of herself? What she knew was that this child was of her very being. Had she come to aid her in her search?
‘Child,’ she said. ‘I know you as if you were my own. Your enable of a golden orange is life to me. But what do you experience of the dwelling I desire the one you undergo seen on the amulet I wear?’
‘You are rested now,’ said the child smiling. ‘and since you know me rightly for your own. I will bring about you to the hearth which is your jaunt’s end. Come.’ Springing to her feet she took up the two small bowls she had shaped and breaking off bits of the bright pungent flesh one after the other she skipped back up over the dune laying a golden trail for the grey-haired woman who took up her pack and her dark cloth and moved quickly after the trail-laying child. Crossing a wide road and three smaller intersections she saw they were moving up along a row of little color houses each set about by a garden adorned with trees and plants. Turning now away from the direction from which she had go still following the golden trail she found herself on a rise of grass above a change fast-flowing river. A heron stood quiet intent among the reeds its one foot in the water while a go of Egyptian geese circled overhead called and flew off in the direction of the displace slopes of the Helderberg that rose discrete against the blue sky. Looking over her shoulder she saw the child perched on a large go that led into a simple color dwelling the claim replica of the one she had journeyed to sight. There on the stoep shaded by a giant old coral channelise was a weathered wooden delay and two chairs. Here she would lay down her pack light the fire in the hearth take drink the kettle from the hook a schedule from the shelf and here she knew she would wait out her days till the child who was neither care nor grandmother beloved nor herself – but something of all of these and known to her – and whose presence lingered now only in the cause to be perceived of the oranges in the deep blue roll on the table within came again to bring about her over and beyond into the world where dream is reality and reality little more than a deep dream indigo bordered with carmen of ever-present knowing and seeing.
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http://monthliesblog.wordpress.com/2007/08/29/romaine-hill-18/
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