Ma Wa Gray

Tomorrow will be the 10th time my matric Drama class will perform their final practical exam. Ten years of watching little boys who believed they had a voice become young men who trust their own agency.  These journeys I take with each and every boy in my care are benchmarks of the profound life I get to live.  And everytime my boys go on stage for the final time, I see the shadow of their younger selves in the wings, willing them on, believing in the person who they knew they could become.  And when the lights go out for the final time tomorrow, and my boys start the process of all their 'lasts',  I already start to miss them. 

 Our swallows have come home. They were here, they were gone, they are back. Perched on the stretch of wire across our verandah they have resumed their scanning for mud for home making in their usual corner of the roof. Seeing the familiar sight it seems like they never left.  And yet they did. They have flown thousands of miles across deserts, rainforest, cities and unchartered wildernesses. They've flown over wars, and broken families, and weddings, and burials. They have eaves dropped on the chatter of multiple languages and have eaten the wild food of a myriad of nationalities.  They know more about the world that I live in than I will ever know. They have perhaps borne witness to some of the most iconic moments of history unraveling itself. They are navigators of this globe and all the mystery and glory of creation.  And yet, like humans, they stay together, and they return home, to me, and my verandah. 

A grizzly spring mist hasn't lifted for the past few days. And now even the frogs are quiet after their raucous spring break. I cannot see beyond the boundary of our garden and the valley below only exists in sound.  It's Monday morning, our kitchen renovation ground to a halt sonetime last week, I'm washing dishes in the bath, I have my final prac exam this week, we couldn't find Eva's homework bag this morning... Things are just lacking definition at the moment. Performance pieces are far from polished. Our kitchen is spread over all corners of the house. I dont know if I needed to pack anything for Eva for school today.  I suppose misty seasons are to be expected. The insipid rolling of one season  into the next. No bright sunsets, no views into the future, just wet mist. But life carries on in the muddle, somewhat blindly. And these seasons make the bright ones all the more beautiful. 

The nighttime frog chorus has dwindled down to one lone low rumble of an oke who wasn't good at speed dating last night. In the valley the hazy spring mist reluctantly begins to clear. Overnight buds suddenly crown myriads of green stems and an azalia is a simple riot of the brightest pink. Spring has sprung, tine for new beginnings to start. 

As we are hustling children, PE bags and tennis rackets into the car I notice a beautiful Egyptian goose on the top most point of our roof. 'Guys there's a goose on the roof!' Eva a moment later, sauntering up the stairs, 'Don't you mean there's a duck on the dak'?

There are certain Monday mornings when the alarm goes off and all of a sudden a plethora of obstacles line up at the side of ones bed. Final prac exam in a week, woefully unprepared boys, trail exam marks deadline tomorrow, full kitchen renovation starts this morning, I have rehearsals every night this week, I have a sick boy at home, Eva has had another flair up of eczema... And then Stephen has a whole other list of work stuff of his own too. But I remember a time in my life when I was completely alone and was praying fervently that I would be living a life that was as rewarding, challenging, creative and full of love as the one I now live. So this morning I am going to welcome the line of obstacles and reframe them as reminders. Reminders that I get to live the life I prayed so hard for.