April bytes.

On the first, forgetting completely about April fools, I popped in for some sushi on my way home. The waiter brought me a large plate of the tiniest maki I have ever seen, some paper-thin slices of sashimi... served with a huge lettuce leaf. We looked at each other and then I caught the chef's eye and we all burst out laughing. The regular stuff arrived a minute later.

My day was made.

Back at the ranch, the birds are eating me out of house and home. Twice a mourning dove has wandered through the kitchen, down the passage and into the lounge to come and fetch me. Up until now, they've ignored the fruit I have offered. They look at me a little accusingly, as if to say: did you not KNOW
that we prefer Golden Delicious? 

A litre of nectar goes down those tiny gullets every week. Six cups of seeds a day. The early birds get the peanut butter.

Upon my travels, looking for odds and ends, I went into a rattan furniture warehouse and spied this! They are making a coach for an African Cinderella.

And then, last night, I came upon a poem by Robert Frost.

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favour fire.

But if it had to perish twice

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

♥

What it feels like to fall.

It's a bipolar world that I find myself in - this film industry. There are moments of elation and unequaled camaraderie and there are times of sheer angst and loneliness. Calms and sudden storms.

Last winter was lean. My heart hurt.

My friends are points of light. They cooked me meals and poured me drinks. We huddled around fires, there were companionable silences, there were hugs. Things got better by small increments and then suddenly in leaps. Now it's a year later and things are good. There's writing and the freedom it brings. Time for long lunches and music and books.

There are nights when I lie awake for hours, not from horrors that gnaw, but a buzzing excitement at being alive. The smell of the rain and the earth as I walk out the door. The crackle of vinyl. My heart in your hand and you play it to the beat.

Woodstock Vintage and how the days rush by.

Over the years I've bought many a beautiful thing from a certain man at the Milnerton Market. He has that elusive thing which is bandied about a lot in the art department... Nazeem has an eye.

So imagine my delight when he told me that he
was opening a shop!

And here it is:

Woodstock Vintage, Amen's Building (it's avocado green.)
131 Sir Lowry Rd

I couldn't resist this Leopard plate. Kruger National Park special edition, by Wedgewood nogal.

 At around twenty-five past on the picture above, there's a small galloping warthog so jolly, just thinking about him makes me smile.

Back at construction, big things are happening. A huge round table is being built for King Arthur.  A prow is being carved for a barge - the head and slender neck of a mythical horse.

A large shipment of fake fur arrives tomorrow at dawn. Skinny cats gather on the foreshore.

The sun feels lower every day. Down the road there are drifts of crackling brown leaves. The pigs and the squirrels are out foraging.
Come evening, the sky is on fire.