Once there was a book written, The Wind in the Willows, and once, a child, I grabbed it like an aspirant pirate from the library shelves in that far-off Karoo town. And then I read the book, and then I listened to the swishing Willow Tree in front of our house with its many waves of different shivers. And then I wrote a paragraph about that tree and my dog Stompie that imaginary climbed the Willow Tree in order to bark the moon and then Miss Botha wrote something at the bottom of the paragraph that lasted a life time.  

This afternoon I sat at my desk, overlooking the below middle class areas in the very far, and the trees near my window were just annoying. They joined the mean South Easter Wind, first child of the Devil, and together they howled the soul into a deep hollow.

I could not find relief for my withering soul in any mature way and so I decided to take a bloody hot water bath that could sooth a soul and a simple way baby.  

So I lighted a candle, although it still was late afternoon, so I poured more hot water every now and then to appease the stupid baby in the bloody bath and so I watched the glimpses of life outside the stark bathroom window. A tree with green leaves, presented itself like a Titanic waving the crowds on shore a frantic goodbye, the mellow blue of the late afternoon responded like a teared saddened Buddha.

So I watched the tree, the fading light through the triangle of the allowed window space. And so I saw the spread of opposites coming home. The green leaves became darkened, the blue afternoon light started to brood its demise, and then there were no more leaves of green or any kind of light.

Just the black, black like a widow, black like a nameless soldier’s grave, black like midnight, black like when black becomes a final curtain. Like deep darkness with no shores and no tomorrows.

All I could do was to let the long gone Stompie climb from my soul into a willow tree to howl the yellow moon one more time. Like a four legged dog. So much so that the man on the moon started to cry. I, I saw him myself.