In recent weeks we’ve had unnerving encounters with black mambas, spitting cobras and puff adders.
It’s that time of year. August. Late winter on our edge of the Zambezi escarpment. When the earth heats up; when the seeds go wild. My garden is coming into its annual climax and my heart is happy.
There’s a malady, I believe, that is connected to the spirit. Not to the brain, not to the body. It’s a malady that envelops you, unfathomable, and in the moment, unfixable.
September and October for us here in the Zambezi Valley is much like it is for haute couture in Paris: it’s Fashion Week.
