meditations

They are not long, the days of wine and roses:

Out of a misty dream

Our path emerges for a while, then closes

Within a dream.

- Ernest Dowson

Saturday, while sitting beside you under an awning of wysteria in the Johannesburg Botanical Gardens, Lethu wonders out loud, Isn’t it scary to think everything you’ve ever done, your entire existence, will someday be forgotten?

Lethu, ignoring the bees floating between the blossoms, is gazing straight ahead. The air is scented of summer — freshly cut grass and thyme. Hearing her, you inhale, eyes closed, and as you exhale, you watch a man whose name you’ll never know pass through the herb garden.

Some would find that thought liberating, you shrug, lowering your head into her lap, the wysteria leaves casting shadows on your face.

Some, she smiles, taking your head in one hand, tracing the dancing shadows with the finger tips of the other.