i think you know everything about the hill now. well nearly everything. almost.
how the winds scream off kilimanjaro in the winter, the droughts, how the rain batters the little pink house in the summer so i have to run in between the attic windows with buckets and a cold box to catch the leaks which change depending on the direction of the wind; the black jagged mountain, the horses and the angle of the moon, how she slides over the hill, dragging the stars behind her. the rainbows. . . the flies. . .the moon on the warm flag stones in the courtyard.
yes. i think you nearly know it all by now. how it becomes unbearably hot between the short rains and the long rains. the still nights twinkling with crickets. and the barely perceptible wind-
its warm fingers twirling the end of your hair, touching your sweaty cheek, and ruffling the horse's mane. when its so hot it's best to ride after six, gallop up Bakers Hill, and watch the ember glow of a day way below you. the world spinning all around you. and i can be queen of the castle and you're the dirty rotten bah and humbug rascal. and all you can do is sigh.
but what you don't know is that lucas, our neighbour, the man with the long maize field next to our shamba (small plot of land) said that our horses had been eating his maize. no they haven't, i said. oh yes they have, he said. only one way to find out. let's ask mwali, the groom. he says of course it wasn't our horses, it was mzee william's cows. mzee william said of course it wasn't his cows. it was your horses, lucas insisted. i saw their tracks and their droppings, lucas said. well. maybe, i mused watching a bee in the lavender, but maybe it was the donkeys from the bottom of the hill? maybe? you never know. and you don't know that the little colt has been broken in and i have ridden him.
what you don't know is that different mosquitoes give you different itchies. no two are the same. you'll see.
what you don't know is that this evening in the late twilight, i found a little glow worm in between the cracks in the wall, blinking under an almost full moon in the courtyard and i still think they're magic and want to sleep in a jar ( a very large one, of course) full of them. weird, i know. "just put your feet down, child, because you're all grown up now," i hear in my head.
what you don't know is that sometimes i feel i could burst out of my skin and leave it blowing in the wind. and be gone in a flash. in a breath. i feel that alive.
and that's a fact.
toodely toot, y'all, and bisous X.X.X. warm flagstones under the summer moon ones. hooah. x j