On the stem of incipient protea shark-shaped petals wax tight their cradle of colour, ready to bare the heart of bloom for creatures of earth and air to gather and gather until, full-blown by time and exposure, the frizz of flower falls to seed Thanks to David Clode of Unsplash for the image
Nothing moves the tree in the pavement is a cut-out the sky above its ceiling all is airless a photograph of night funeral Nothing moves the world locked in the
Sleep not willing to bed with me I rose and sought the soft folds of water. Eyes to the stars I floated in the cool white sent by streetlights over
Though he did not know it Though he did not know it the beggar who crutched his way up the middle of the road in the middle of the night
How I loved the Western Cape, and the Cape Peninsula in particular. There is no place on Earth I have loved as much, or more. And how emblematic of that love are Protea blooms. Your fine poem (and the beautiful Unsplash image accompanying it) rekindle joyous memories. Perhaps where one spends a happy childhood, and where one comes to manhood, will loom larger in one’s memory, and occupy a greater part of one’s heart, than any other lands (no matter how beautiful, how spectacular) one might come to know in later years. I live now amidst sublime scenery – mountains, dark forests, and great sea lochs – but it is the Cape Peninsula I still sometimes dream of at night, and it is the Cape Peninsula which is the setting for my latest novel.
Dear Friend! You are part of those memories!