Get A Grip

A plastic bag blew across the road, American Beauty-esque. A KFC bag. A harsh reminder of where we were heading. Back to the city, plastic-bedecked. It blew from the cliff-face on the right, across the road, and down into the breathtaking Huisrivier’s Pass on the left, the Karoo stubble changing rapidly into green-tree’ed mountains that dropped dramatically, spilling blushing aloes into the Huisrivier below. We were no longer in the Eastern Cape.

A car parked in the lay-by, a father holding his son, as they peer into the valley. Beautiful humanity.

I berate myself for being such a spoiled brat. Poor me, having to leave my beloved Karoo, with its cloud-spattered, enormous blue sky and warm people, to come back to the City Beneath the Mountain, where so many of the people that I love live. Where I am extraordinarily lucky to be loved, to love.

Get a grip, Privilege Girl.

But, but, I can’t breathe when I can’t see the stars. When the sky doesn’t stretch to forever.

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2 Responses to Get A Grip

  1. Juliette says:

    I just love your writing, read and love all your blog posts. Just saying, so you don’t forget xx


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