'Dreaming while dawns left hand is in the sky'
from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
Those words have been nudging at my brain these past days. They had to nudge hard because the old grey matter has been clogged with flu, but is fighting back hard and emerging triumphant.
This little book lives by my bedside now. It belonged to my father. The small leather bound, travel worn, edition was a gift from my mother to him in 1943. It never left his side through all his journeys. I love the words.
1943 - what huge changes and perils people were living through then - hardly daring to hope for a shining future, but pressing on anyhow. And here we are in a tumultuous time of change again - with the added drama of climate change and prophecies of the Ends of Days. Change is in the air - its the only certainty.
On a smaller scale, news from here is that a swarm of bees has moved into one of the old leadwood fencing posts in our driveway. I have been leaving them dishes of sugar water to make them feel welcome. The lions have been back, keeping us awake in the dead of night with their deeply reverberating calls. It really makes you appreciate being tucked up in bed within a bricks and mortar dwelling.
The grass is drying out fast now, and the green is turning yellow. We have one guinea fowl left now in our domestic flock and he is looking quite traumatised. For the first few days after his pal was taken by an eagle, he just ran around calling madly. Now he has settled down a bit. Anyone have some guinea fowl for sale?
As winter takes hold on the southern continent, the Okavango River continues to rise with water pushing further into the Kalahari Basin and the ancient lake beds.
Perhaps we will see the return of a waterworld here in the desert.
I like to think that Dawns Left Hand is in the sky and to remember that our time is finite and precious anyhow.