Those of you who grew up in Durbs (Durban) and its coastal north and south know the sticky humidity of January, even worse in February … you need to grow up there or to be from tropical or sub tropical climes to be able to handle it.

Cape Town is different, hardly a mozzie to torment you, and almost hardly ever the humidity.

It was a still Summer morning last week when Ken and I were off to a presentation in Stellenbosch.

That can be a Durbs like experience, heat and humidity!

It is even worse in the Paarl area …

Coming back from the presentation was the illusion of driving to a cooler zone – but the air was still in Lakeside too, so the relief I was looking for was not there either.

The air is almost always in movement where the Cape Peninsula heads south and splits the oceans into two (a physical myth but a romantic one), especially in the Lakeside area, as it comes off the sea and over and around Muizenberg Mountain.

There is always something in anything, and the discomfort sharpened my awareness and appreciation of the cooling effect of the movement of air in our area.

The wind can be irritating, frustrating, maddening …

It took me a while to appreciate it, maybe a couple of decades, redemption is always a long journey, these words below hopefully taking me closer to forgiveness …

In the heat of the day the truth is in your sweat.

The afternoon sun beats down, forcing itself through the panes of the closed windows, its hot breath invincible, without mercy.

 A puny little fan is more symbolic rather than helpful …

 And you wonder where she is, the Lady Of The Silver Hair?

 You regret all that you thought of her, as she blew cool in your irritable face.

 Get away from me, I have had enough of you, stop, can’t you see I am tired of you?

 She never listens, and that only makes you madder at her, she comes and goes as she pleases, she does as she pleases.

 If only, you say, if only she would leave you alone …

 And for much of the time that may be so, that without her it might be better off, less uncomfortable.

 There is a time of truth for everything, in everything.

 And in such times, truth is the reality that has stalked you, and sprung itself at you, and you begin to regret your thoughts, how you wished you had not said what you had said, that what you wish for could indeed end up being what you would have preferred not to have wished for.

 The sweat glistens on your forehead, it is uncomfortable, but it makes you think.

 As bad as the humidity where the mangoes and avocados grow …

 Perhaps just this time, once more, and then I will be over it.

 The puny fan keeps whirling but you know it is not enough; even the dust on it hardly flies away …

 And then the first wisps of her silver hair, and you hope and pray that she will forgive you, and you watch and yearn for her, dismayed as the wisps hold back for a while, relieved when they re-appear again.

 You know her cool breath is over there, waiting behind the hulk of the mountain, and you will say sorry once again, and promise to never spurn her again …

 The wisps become longer, stronger, and the first edge of her cool breath reaches you, below the mountain as you wait.

 From white the wisps begin to take on that silver, that familiar silver that flies away from her Black South Easter body when she is truly angry, that twirls in every which way, dancing in her crazy cool breath …

 And now there she is, the Lady of the Crazy Silver Hair, in her full magnificence, cooling your over heated body … blowing over the mountain top, and as crazy as she may be you rejoice …

Copyright © 2015 G. Rigotti

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