I have gorgeous memories of rainy days at Wits as a student. Just sat at the bus stop on Yale Rd recapturing the olde moments and then decided that since those memories were literally freezing along with the rest of me, the olde bones should be relocated to a warmer enclave. Someday I will write an entire book narrated from a bus stop. Just not today! Chai Latte, anyone?
I write. As I must. Words are my paints of expression on an otherwise bland canvas, my rollercoasters of delight on otherwise dreary roads. Entertainment or derision, they manifest in my varied states of being. Until theres silence. Even then, theres a dialogue of sorts that continues... in spirit? Who knows..