Ma Wa Gray

 Our kitchen has just had a full renovation. Three weeks ago I manically packed up my entire kitchen on a Sunday afternoon. Things just got chucked into boxes because I didnt have time to be all feng shui and zen.  Now that it's almost done and I'm one lick of paint away from a brand new kitchen I've decided I'm over washing plates in my bath and preparing salads on my late father in laws writing desk so I'm moving back in.  But I didnt think it would be this emotional. Almost everything we own is either a hand me down or a kitchen tea or wedding present. And I still remember who gave us what.  And some of those people aren't alive anymore, or our friendship has drifted apart, or they live on the other side of the world and sometimes they are still second on my WhatsApp messages.  And 14 years into our marriage lots of the things are a little the worse for wear. They might have the odd chip, or now be an incomplete collection, Uncle Rick's hand made wooden e...

I haven't put my rabbits to sleep for a couple of days now because of late night rehearsals. But their burrow is now our room and, despite living in a five bedroom house, we now all sleep together. Mattresses live stacked against the walls and their beds in their bedrooms remain untouched. This morning when the alarm went off a soft vleisy Gray hand made its way under the cover to hold mine and a small wiggly girl jumped into bed and curled in on my chest for a cuddle.  One day when I am old and my children are making burrows of their own I will not, for a moment, regret these sacred and fleeting moment with my rabbits. 

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.