The sun exceeded itself today. The surge of the heat, coupled with the humidity, added a little extra rush to the promise of climatological violence that will be inflicted upon you if you should step outside in an unthinking moment. The heat is palpable, like a shimmering wall. The rain clouds are promising in the late afternoon, but as always this summer, a promise that remains transparent. A few drops of rains spatters on the stoep. It does not even remove the dust and pigeon crap. The ever-present rumble of thunder adds a big fat lie to the proceedings. The day have cooled down considerably, but it does not rain. My world remains thirsty.
I will visit the shellhole tonight. I will pay homage to one Windhoek Lager, or two, and then retreat back to my office. Maybe visit a few Facebook pages, but the level of discourse on some them have dampened my fervour. I have no appetite for sewer debate. The spirit of my mother, my muse, is ever present. I shall write tonight. Maybe have a glass of red wine, too.