It all started with a look;
first tentative glances
hidden under smiling brows and
my heart strung out on adrenaline's maybes
oh yes, baby,
maybe, maybe...
You looked at me
and my smile grew wider.
My soul tripped over clumsy feet
forgotten how to walk
just want to talk
and maybe walk...
A finger brushed,
then explored my waiting hand
while exploding senses
lit fire to the world.
my sanity unfurled
to maybe step in your world...
Now steps fall soft
and periphery cartoons
fade to tucked away corners
of my mind with a kiss;
for this little miss, maybe just a kiss...
Swept into nevermore
on first love's bliss
memories shine and blur.
Was it really like this?
heaven in a kiss or did I maybe dream this?
I hold the light
of fairy tale bright,
yet know that love's breath grows old
and shrugged shoulders cold,
but still I dream
love exists yet, I scream!
the world echoes back
Maybe, maybe...
“One love, one heart. Let’s get together and feel alright.
As it was in the beginning! One love…”
Ah, Mr. Marley; the voice of Africa. Everywhere we went we heard his songs played on tinny ghetto blasters. Arnie’s stereo was no better and you would think the monotony of the same 2 tapes over and over again would push one over the edge, but it just became the soundtrack of our journey. When I needed a break, I could always slip on the headphones of my walkman and disappear in the dark whining of Robert Smith from The Cure or John Waite’s sad lament in “Missing You” that reminded me of friends far from arm’s reach. Mostly though, I just sat back and hummed along to Bob Marley as the miles passed under our wheels in the pursuit of life and adventure.
With time, our journey, like Arnie, was beginning to show the wear and tear from our travels. In Masvingo, we had patched the hole that was torn in the muffler from the road from hell in Mozambique. The patch was a temporary fix, and as the miles stretched out ahead of us again, the putty found it could not hold its muster. There were other signs that Arnie was getting tired of our constant pilgrimage as well; our starter motor was now completely done, our fuel efficiency was slowly slipping, the slider door no longer sealed easily, often requiring two, three or more shoves of the door to shut it tight. Yes, it was almost time to say goodbye.
Goodbyes loomed large for more than just the van though, as our group steered along on the last leg of our journey. In a week’s time, the gift that had been presented to me by Fate’s own hands many months before, in the Johannesburg airport, would drift away from me, from us. It was time for Miki to go home. In a mere week and a half, she would be back in Canada, far from the dry landscape of Zimbabwe. Oliver would go his own way again. Brett and I would have to decide how much further we could push Arnie, before we propped a For Sale in his window.
Today was not yet that day though. Today, we pushed on along twisty, turny roads. We claimed victory at another petrol station reached, and shoved off towards Bulawayo where a taste of city life would encircle us again. The roads were getting shorter though and Bob’s voice seemed poignant, as I stared at my travelling companion’s heads in the front seat.
With minutes to spare, do I have anything to say? Any great words of wisdom on my limp, lazy Saturday, where the closest thing to leaving the house was to get a trowel from the shed? hmm
Nope...
So I will leave you with some recent flower pics from the yard.
A small, blue oval was held aloft by the end of the needle-nose pliers.
“This was your problem,” he stated, as rain drizzled on our heads bent over the upside-down toilet lying in the grass.
My eyes grew large, as recognition hit me.
Grrr…
“Darling, little angels,” I exclaimed to his laughter.
Marbulous Marble Run
Oh G-man, that was my tale of woe for you in 55 words.
Seen here is the blue disk discovered in its foiled escape from my house
The Tale of my Toilet: Yes, my darling little angels were the ones at fault for all my loo's woes. Just as I expected! The little blue oval was the landing pad for the marble game game shown above. It was wedged in the last bend of my commode's siphon tube, trying desperately to be flushed out to sea. Alas, all it was doing was backing up water and whatever other contents were placed into the latrine, ahem. My tale does not have a shitty ending though, as life has returned to normal in the workings of my lavatory. And if you will excuse me, I think that the WC/Dunny/Privy is calling...
and remember, "If it's yellow, let it mellow. If it's brown flush it down" So says Wikipedia, and so say I.
