South Africa is in the midst of spring, and there is no end to the flowers.1 Every few weeks, there are new arrangements of shape, size and colour at the waysides that come and go in turn.
Some sparkle on shrubs that in every other season give nothing away of their splendour. Some burst from bulbs straight from the ground—just stem, no leaves at all. Some flutter gently amid the grasses—shy, though they need not be so.
Some dazzle with striking colour, insisting one stops and stares. Some are strange, barely recognisable as what they are—for that reason, all the more lovely. Some are so small that on hands and knees one must descend to see them at all.
Were I to catalogue every species I have seen this season, my updates would be frequent and long, but permit me one more occasion to show some of the specimens that now are in bloom:
Or wild animals: late Thursday afternoon, I saw for the first time a pair of Otocyon megalotis, Bat-eared foxes! I regret I was not able to photograph them.
To me, spring is a time of involuntary inspiration. In the past month alone, I have composed many new poetic sketches inspired by the flowers I encountered, most of them for the first time, as what bloomed last year, now is nowhere to be found, replaced by different species.
Incidentally, I have noticed in my new sketches a sudden predilection for rhyming couplets in trimetre.1 Spontaneously, they take on the lively AA BB CC and so on rhyming scheme. I do not object; what better way to express the simple and cheerful feelings that move me to write, just now!
Of course, these new sketches are for a future, second anthology—I am yet working on the first—but, in the embrace of Persephone, how could I refuse to comply? I confess I feel a sense of frustration that days are so short and the list of what I wish to achieve in them so long.
da-DUM da-DUM da-DUM / da-DUM da-DUM da-DUM and so on.