The full moon just risen, calls me from my hot and airless room to sit and marvel at the drama of approaching nightfall.
Bats rejoicing in the freedom of the dusk, flitting in the fading light like eager children unconfined by lessons.
Bird mothers murmur their blessings to drowsy chicks, as night birds startle awake to join the bats at catching dinner.
I sit on sun-warmed bricks and watch as large-bosomed clouds are softly kissed adieu by fading day, while crickets strike up their endless one-note serenade.
Lights stream from the house, and curtains swish across the windows. Shall I go in? I feel remote and loath to return to mundane things like supper and the seven o’clock news.
I turn away to watch again. Shadows grow and friendly corners of the garden are a bit unsettling now; I cringe at the thought of treading the familiar stepping stones to sit on that now mysterious bench. I dare not disturb the creatures of the darkness, the wiggly, bitey, ghosty things that may just lurk there.
Distant voices from next-door houses are tranquil sounds, like sleepy birds, settling in the safety of four walls that shelter them against the night.
From quite close by I hear the croaky call of the newly-woken Dikkop in the veld across the way, and the panicked cries of Plovers wheeling in the sky above to warn away some predator from babies in their nests.
The sun has gone and left to itself, the moonlight bathes the garden in an eerie silver twilight.
Chilly, I creep in to fetch a shawl and hoping to elude detection I tiptoe out once more to tryst with night.
But then,’Oh, is that where you were? We were wondering where you’d got to?
What’s for supper?’
The spell is broken,
and humdrum duty encircles me once more.