Monthly Archives: November 2021

The Open Road

Fresh air, open skies, freedom.  One can lift up their head and howl at the moon and no one will care.  Yes, this was the way to travel.  Breathe deeply the pristine air.  Well pristine if you disregard the diesel fumes, acid rain and manure mist.  At least out here you can’t see the air in front of you.  In the city not only can you see what you are breathing, it leaves a film on your nostril hairs. Breathe deeply in the city and you’re liable to cough up a lung.  Out here in the wide-open spaces there’s a tang in the air.  Of course, that tang is 10,000 years of rotting plants and animal excrement.  Yum!

When you walk down the open sidewalks of a busy city you can hear the sounds of laughter from small children.  You can smell the tantalizing aromas from diverse cultures; fresh bread, sizzling sausages, and a myriad of spices.  It is the smell of success and of life.  People live here and people work here.  It is the smell of comfort and love, of laughter and tears.  It is the city.  But the city has another side.

The laughter of small children often comes from bodies full of nothing but hunger and loss.  The tantalizing smells simply reinforce the feelings of desperation from those that need but do not have the monetary means to fulfill that need.  There are those who have and will not share.  The city was built on the backs of the poor for the comfort of the rich and they do not wish to share today. Perhaps tomorrow will be a day to share, perhaps. There is success here for a privileged few and there is life here for those who work hard enough to support the fragile infrastructure. There is also death here for those who aren’t smart enough, or strong enough, or rich enough to succeed.  Life rewards those who have and disposes of those who have not.

Away from the city the sounds you hear are the birds flitting from tree to tree, cross pollinating and snacking on the nectar of the flower.  The wind rustles the leaves of the trees, gently showering you with bugs and their teeny tiny excrement.  The rustling of the leaves distracts you from the rustling at your feet which may just turn out to be an annoyed rattlesnake out for lunch.  It never pays to get between a snake and his version of a tasty snack.  Yes, there is life here, lots of it and chances are it is not all that impressed by your big feet and your insatiable appetite for nature.  You are in their home and you are most likely unwelcome.

Finding a spot where one can commune with nature, far from the lights and noise of a modern city is a challenge.  Just finding a spot that is not already spoken for by realtors is one thing. One must have a permit to stop, raise a tent or build a fire pit.  Heaven help anyone who builds an open fire without first obtaining a permit filled out in triplicate and filed with God.

The first night spent beneath the stars is magical.  The wildlife that abounds in the forest is vast. From predatory birds to carnivorous canines and the most pervasive of pests: the mosquito and friends.  Sounds are amplified and smells are close.  The babbling of a brook can sound like a rushing river, but soothing.  The stars are bright, almost surreal.  There is life all around you, just out of sight.

The first night spent beneath the stars in the city is also magical, a different kind of magic.  The light from the stars is obscured by the neon lights of the city night life. The life too is abundant and varied, from pest to predator. People are dressed in their version of finery, and often act accordingly. Beautiful swans can be seen walking gracefully outside fashionable restaurants with appropriately obsequious entourages. Then there are the weasels who will try to sell you watches that don’t tell time or bad toothed ferrets hawking the latest in pirated DVDs. And of course, there are always the ever-present motor vehicles. There are the little ones that scoot too close to the sidewalks and splash you with questionable liquids or the mammoth conveyors of multiple personalities that meander ponderously. There are also the pimpmobiles and muscles cars that spew forth noxious fumes just for the fun of it.

Go down a darkened alley and you just might find a seller of a different kind of magic. It is the kind of magic that can be sniffed up your nose or injected into a vein.  It is a magic that is ultimately costly and deadly, figuratively and literally.

Hidden close by is a malnourished, frightened child who has tried to escape from an abusive home and a cynical street walker who just wants to finish this night without getting her throat slit and take a long, hot bath to help to forget. Forgetting is necessary for some to stay alive in this unforgiving world. Also out this dark night is a tired nightshift worker who wants to go home and get some sleep so he can start this endless cycle all over again.

Even more strange are the tourists who flock to see the nightlife that abounds in the city in the hopes of seeing something dangerous and exotic. Pictures would be even better to take home to show the lads at the local ‘Weed and Feed’. Uncle Fester will be plumed amazed!

And the city is alive with sounds.  There is the hum of the traffic and the unexpected screech of a car horn, the loud reverberations of the boom box that is supposed to be the latest in fashionable music.  It is personal thing.  People are shouting and occasionally laughing or screaming.   The life around you is as noisy as it is bright and don’t you dare stop for too long or you might just be relieved of that loaded wallet you carry in your left rear pocket or run down by a slightly inebriated youth.

Ah yes, the city is alive and it is in your face.  Don’t wander down here unless you plan to play by their rules.

The woods are alive too but they are a little more reserved about it. The inhabitants are watching you, trying to decide if you are edible or just annoying.  Communing with nature can be tricky since they would really rather you did your communing elsewhere.  Unless of course you do turn out to taste good with a side of shoe leather.

Choices, choices, choices.  Does one cavort within the perilous precincts of the city or meander through the beautiful byways of nature’s potentially hazardous haunts?  It is a difficult decision to make.  Where to go, what to do?


Clang! Clang! Clang! “Get up you lazy excuses for human beings! Your mama is not here to bring you breakfast in bed and this is not a vacation resort! I said get out of your cozy bunks and present yourself for inspection! Do you hear me recruits?!”

The open road is temporarily closed due to reality incursion.  It’s expected to reopen shortly after lights out.

Ah yes, life in the army, the open road beckons still.


A Poem

I need to write a poem,

Where oh where to start?

Should it be of love,

Or perhaps a tasty tart?


I know what you are thinking,

I know it in my heart.

You think I’m talking pastries,

Or perhaps she’s à la cart!


If I have words I need to say,

It’s here I will impart.

But today I fear is different,

My words are not that smart.


My mind is on vacation,

I swear it did depart!

The vacancy that it left,

Is filled by one upstart!


I pray it won’t be long,

With this counterpart.

In just a day or two,

I’ll simply hit restart!

My friend is gone…

My favourite author is dead. As I’m writing this, I am crying for a man that was not part of my life but he has been woven into my life for decades. I met him once. I have his autograph. He was coming to my favourite bookstore for a signing and the owners knew how much I cared about him, about his books. So, they made arrangements for me to meet him first. He looked tired. But he also looked me straight in the eye when I told him how much his books had meant to me and said that we were friends already. I never forgot that. I also didn’t wash my hand for a while. Silly girl.

Thirty some odd years ago I was bemoaning the fact that I didn’t have anything new to read. My mother handed me a Readers Digest collection of stories. They were abridged books. I read one by an author I had never heard of and was hooked. I promptly went out and bought the full version. That was the beginning of a relationship with an individual on the other side of the world. I have spent more time in his presence than any other man (except my father).

I am a reader. Sometimes voraciously so. At my peak I was averaging two and three books a week. I did that for years. So, when I find an author that I like that has many books to his name I will splurge, I will binge and I will be in seventh Heaven. That began my romance with Wilbur Smith. He did not know my name or anything about me but my relationship with him was, in many ways, incredibly intimate.  I would take his books to bed and read for hours. I would park myself on a chair on my balcony and immerse myself in the fields of Africa listening to Lions cough and elephants roar.  It was breathtaking. And I can visit anytime I want by simply opening the pages of one of his books.

His stories have taken me to Diamond fields and Gold mines, he showed me cattle grazing on the open pastures and the animals that stalk them. I met people who were larger than life and as flawed as I am.  He wove his stories into the fabric of the country and it all sounded so incredibly real. It was real for as long as I was reading it and probably for a short time afterwards.  I feel that I have been to South Africa and have met the people that live there, of all walks of life. He did that. And he did that for millions of people all over the world. Our relationship was not exclusive, nor should it have been.  Rest in peace my friend. You will live forever between the covers of your books.


Wilbur Smith,   9 January 1933 – 13 November 2021