One of the greatest joys in life is to be engrossed in a task so captivating that all the other demands of life seem to vanish about you. Writing poetry is such a task to me.

My departure from social media has lifted from me a burden; a pressure (wholly self-imposed) ever to be abreast of the world—artistic or otherwise. I sigh with a sense of relief.

What I enjoy about autumn, I think, is the inevitability of winter. It lends to the season a sense of melancholy. Although the South African spring is in its temperament the same—an ever-changing impromptu of sun and cloud—the impending severity of summer makes it somehow less endearing.