Journeys through the journal (8)

It was the fifth of April. PD and I were in the highest of the high country in the North Eastern Cape. Mecca for short. The sky was a very pale blue, brushed at times with a high and hazy grey white. The weak and filtered sun crept through that haze, and kissed the hills, between interludes of cool breeze, and brighter sunshine. One could just feel the sun’s warmth through a thick denim shirt, and at times it wasn’t enough and one felt the need for an extra layer. The North facing hillsides there are covered in a dense

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Standing still

Many years ago, I used to fish stillwaters with a fellow by the name of Guy, who had bad knees.  I don’t know how bad the knees were. All I know is that when I was crouching in the tall grass or beside a bush at the water’s edge, he was standing tall, because it was uncomfortable for him to crouch. So I was at an advantage. I could take cover just a little more than he could. So the fish were less likely to see me, and I would catch more fish. Neat! Except that it didn’t work like

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