Day 136

And blue grass.

And then there were six people who were a family although only four of them lived together still, which is what happens to families, unfortunately, when children grow up, and which will eventually mean that only two will live together, which will be a sad state of affairs to begin with, and then will probably become easier as time goes on, which is the general rule with time and hurt, it would seem.

And then there was a day called Sunday, and the four split into two and one couple went to a braaivleis (barbecue) with a group of South African friends, and they are like the grandparents, (die oupa en ouma) so they took presents for the little children, although in typical fashion, the good intentions went awry, because the boys' toys needed batteries, for goodness' sake, and these were not, of course, on hand, now were they?

And the other couple, who happen to be born on the very same day, a minute apart, went to the beach with their friend, and jumped off the high rocks into the exhilaratingly cold Atlantic, coming home happy and tired with cut feet and reddened shoulders.

And then did I mention that the Sunday in question was the most beautiful Sunday for a long time, with blue sky, and sunshine, and pretty fluffy clouds, which make a sky bigger, really?  And that in the late afternoon one person from the ouma and oupa couple went running in her spring-green meadow, 2.09 miles (3.4 km) with a new moon rising in the west to greet her as she ran home to the warmly lit house, so inviting through the windows.

And that I would really have liked to do an image of my house from outside but that for want of time, which cures hurt (up to a point) but out of which I run every day, I have instead a drawing I did in a Madrid park on our way to South Africa in 2008, when, exhausted from no sleep for hours and hours, we loitered in a park like homeless people, the boys lying fast asleep on the benches, Tim slumped nearby, and me the only one really awake and paying attention, the shepherd watching over my lambs, loving the fountain, and the different birds, the lyrical language floating past my ears, the newness of it all.