Tears to your eyes

Heat, gratitude and Trout As the three of us sat with our backs to an earth bank, the gum trees bent double, dust from the township roads swept across the valley in front of us. We got wet too, but after the heat of the day, it was such a relief that we enjoyed the cool drops. I sat there watching the large droplets fall on the sleeve of my shirt and dissipate in the wicking fabric  in mild and unperturbed fascination. You can relax and do that when a storm is not accompanied by vicious lightning, and this was

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Troutless in Africa

On Friday,  as I lowered the back door of the aircraft, turned and reversed down the steps onto the tarmac,  I felt cool dry April afternoon air swirl around me and lift my spirits. I had come home.  Home to Southern mountains,  to prospects of winter frost,  to Trout,  and good coffee. I had left behind sticky Mozambique,  with it’s potholes,  humidity,  train ambushes and sugarcane.  I had left behind Tanzania’s red earth rivers,  it’s bribes and mosquitoes.  I had left behind Lusaka’s dust,  incomplete buildings,  and broken machinery.  We had retreated to the place with good freeways,  neatly laid

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