The Bridge

Truth is we don’t know how the day will turn out,

It could start as peaceful and beautiful.

The bridge in the morning

The bridge in the morning

Down below the bridge

A sense of calm and harmony is evident,


Underneath the bridge

Yet above, there’s disorder and confusion

The day could end with pain and tears.

The bridge in the afternoon

The bridge in the afternoon

If you knew how the day will turn out,

Would you rather stay in the comfort zone and be safe.

Or would you proceed ahead with all risks involved

Because you know, life is too short

To let an opportunity to tell your story pass you by.

On the other side of the bridge

On the other side of the bridge

I witnessed this car accident yesterday afternoon. Luckily it seems those who were involved have survived to tell the story.

The Library

The Library

What is your story? And if you don’t tell it yourself, who will?

On the horizon

stood one of the fells I would later climb that day.

Far away, behind the legendary Sanna Tunturi and adjacent to Kilpisjärvi lake, the path was paved with rocks. I ignored the discomfort in my ankle. In fact, the ankle pain was nothing compared to the turmoil in my heart. The pain lodged in my heart was as piercing as the horizon I set my eyes on, Muurivaara, one of the sharp points where Finland and Norway meet.

Which part of my childhood was an illusion? a question that was constantly on my mind as I heaved up the rocky terrain.



For more on the horizon theme, visit Ailsa and get inspired.


…In the country

When time to bed and

time to rise becomes irrelevant;

Morning coffee becomes midday coffee,

Breakfast turns into brunch.

Translates: Drop by the small shop

Translates: Drop by the small shop

When taking a shower is not a priority,

Why waste water; when you’re soon going to be drenched

in sweat and stink like a polecat with all the building projects,

Besides you have sauna invitations lined up from neighbours.

Summer holiday project

Summer holiday project

When you don’t need much from the shops

B’cause you can pick fruit and veg from the garden,

Milk from neighbours with cows,

Eggs from neighbours with chickens,

Bread, you can knead and bake your own.

This year's harvestThis year’s harvest

When you take pleasure in the sounds of nature;

Grasshopper sound is musical,

Bee buzzing nearby signals a visitor to arrive soon,

Butterfly landing on your shoulder is symbolic,

Soon you delude yourself with your poetic abilities.

I've touched by a butterfly

I’ve been touched by a butterfly

You know for sure that you are in the country;

When you don’t need to invite anyone but

You always have someone dropping by.

You now drink coffee from the small tea cups

B’cause you can’t tell how many times you’ll have to consume

The cup of jolt with each guest dropping by.

Tea Party country style...

Tea Party country style…

When your friend calls to say they’ve heard

From someone you don’t remember,

Who also heard from someone you don’t know

That you are in the country,

Small town news travels fast.

Rented sheep for kids' amusement

Rented sheep for kids’ amusement

When what’s happening outdoors is

More interesting than what’s indoors.

You spend copious amount of hours

In the garden with binoculars, scanning and zooming

The birds riding bicycles down the road.

A good place to sit

A good place to sit

Oh! bless the indolence;

As you sit under the tree curious about passersby,

You suddenly see dust rise up fast on gravel road

An ambulance rushes by, a police car follows suit

Now, it’s time to get on your bike

In order to hear it from the horse’s mouth.

Mode of Transport

Mode of Transport

You stop to attend to a ring phone

Why carry darn thing in the first place,

A necessary nuisance, it is.

You learn that Touch Rugby practice starts sooner than usual,

You’ll have to abandon the ambulance story

As you’ll sure hear about it before end of the day,

Such is holiday in the countryside.

Aah! sauna at last.

Aah! sauna at last.


I have not abandoned my blog, and I’m not going to bore you with the same excuse that I’m busy. Who isn’t busy really? Today as it is my blogging anniversary (thanks to WordPress for the notification) I had to reassess my blogging activities. Why did I start this blog? Have I accomplished what I meant to do with it? The answer is of course, I started as a way keeping in touch with my family and friends, and yes, I’m using it the way I intended to – that’s an accomplishment.

But what took me a while to realise is that blogging is like writing, in fact it is writing. I regard writing a blog post the same as writing a personal essay, even though less formal, it remains truthful. In addition, a post has to be carefully edited and then published. The process would be the same even if I were to tell a story using photos only. What I like about blogging though is that I can write what I want (not offending anyone in the process, of course) and publish it without waiting for someone else to tell me that it’s not good enough for a certain publication.

Images of summer

Images of Summer


It has also become obvious during my blogging experience that quality more than quantity is what I admire and enjoy from the blogs I follow. Each and every time after reading these blogs, I always feel that I’ve learned something new or gained a new perspective on something. The quality of posts is something I hope to emulate — well, I’m not trying to make an excuse for not posting for months — and wish to achieve. So in all, I’m still around even though my appearances are less frequent. This is a pace I’m comfortable with at the moment, otherwise blogging would become a chore.

So this day reminds me of another reason I immensely enjoy blogging. Connecting and interacting with other bloggers or writers. The knowledge that behind the avatar, there are real people with their own stories to tell makes it worthwhile. On that note, I sincerely thank you my fellow bloggers, followers, readers and friends for taking interest in my blog, and in turn inviting me to your amazing worlds.

Cheers to blogging!





Juggling Act

I’ve been (and still am) busy dealing with several things at the same time, and that’s why my absence from Blogland. This quote pretty much sums up what I’m trying to say;

Imagine life is a game in which you are juggling five balls. The balls are called work, family, health, friends and integrity. And you’re keeping all of them in the air. But one day you finally come to understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. The other four balls…are made of glass. If you drop one of these it will be irrevocably scuffed, nicked, perhaps even shattered.”

~ James Patterson, Suzanne’s Diary for Nicolas

Hard at work

Hard at work

I have taken on a new project and in order to keep up with all the demands, I’ll have to drop the ‘blog ball’ for a while.

But do not despair my dear readers and followers. I’ll be back…



I had to reblog this.

Originally posted on Zukiswa Wanner:

I’m tired but I can’t sleep. I’ve been having conversations with the darkie South African literati and I felt I needed to write this. I know it won’t make me popular in the SA hood but, oh well, maybe that’s why I left the hood. So here it is my book-loving white compatriots (and no. This ain’t addressed to you Lauren Beukes, Jassy Mackenzie, Kevin Bloom, Helen Moffett, Tiah Beautement, Margie Orford, Fiona Snyckers, Jo Ann Richards and and and  so step away from the burning building, thank you!), please read carefully. The next three or four columns are addressed to you. The rest are to the rest of you, literati –black and white. So here goes:

Songeziwe Mahlangu. Napo Masheane. Yewande Omotoso. Lesego Rampolokeng. Phillipa Yaa de Villiers. Pumla Gqola. Maxine Case. Thando Mgqolozana. Shafinaaz Hassim. Lebo Mashile. Niq Mhlongo. Cynthia Jele. Sifiso Mzobe. Mary Watson. Angela Makholwa. Siphiwo…

View original 1,048 more words

D for Days

Anything can happen to anyone at any time and you shouldn’t just live through the days, or you lose them. You should do what you can to enjoy every moment.”

Sarah Brightman

Forest solitude

Forest solitude

For more on the challenge, visit frizztext



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