Waking from bad dreams in a grey morning that never rains, makes for a heavy feeling.
The ceiling is pearl white, shadowless. The mosquito net hangs glacier still. The house is quiet. The dogs bark. On and on and on. I think I hear someone shout, “Bella!” Who else knows my dog’s name? Perhaps it was a shout in the wind. Like the night I woke up at three in the morning, the wind tearing into the eaves like a pack of hungry dogs, teeth in bones, and I thought I could hear the wail of a baby…I stood rock statue still at the window, head cocked, alert, in the attic of my bedroom, gazing out onto a wind torn, moon slashed 3 o clock morning. The wailing of neglect and cold faded, disappeared into a cave of sound and then floated back, imperceptibly. Awake, I trudged downstairs to the loo, perplexed, slightly unnerved. As I stood in the bathroom, the lights dipped dim and rose lightning bright three times, ethereal. Goose flesh crept like urgent little caterpillars up my spine. The rational mind is a godsend. She speaks to me: “ Oh it’s TANESCO, obviously. There you go thinking ghostly thoughts. Honestly. Stop this nonsense and go back to bed. Yes. There you are. But before you go up, best switch the computer boxes off so you don’t have to schlep downstairs when the lights finally die, ok?” I obediently agree.
When you turn off the UPS box, you have to firmly hold down the button for a good few seconds. There is nothing loose about that switch. As I leaned under the desk, hundreds of creepy crawly caterpillar legs scurried across my spine. I felt someone or something behind me. Rational Ruth Mind: “It’s nothing. Now stop this at once!” Yes, yes. I cautiously climbed the stairs to bed, blinking myself to calmness, ignoring The Thing Behind. I paused by the window to listen for the baby wailing, but only the wind again, star littered sky and skeleton ceilings. As I began to drift off to sleep, I hear footsteps downstairs - slow, heavy, shuffling definite footsteps – as the wind takes a breath. My body stiffens involuntarily. I freeze, ears like long stethoscopes. Yes. Definitely foot steps. My heart thuds like run away village drums. My cold sweaty hands clench into balls. My ears hum with fear. I hear the UPS box beeping, switching on. I hear the printer click to life. And then nothing. “ Rada swami. Rada Swami. Rada Swami,” I whisper in my head, chanting, chanting, until the wind breathes out, sighing long, sad songs and sleep.
The wind is more persistent at this time of year, greedy, knowing the rain will not come, blowing supreme. It isn’t a kind wind. It smells of dust, dry grass and hot rocks. I want it to fly lightning balloons behind it. It holds unseen stirring things in its claws, dropping them where it pleases. Wendigos waltz with dervishes and dust devils, spinning wildly on. I lie in bed at night staring at the shadows like ribs on the ceiling. Great swells of wave like wind break on the edge of the hill, like an omniscient sea. Sometimes wind spirits hook into your dreams.
I open the door to the barking dogs and give the Alsatian a breakfast of the chicken carcass from last night. He needs it more than the other two. He is recovering from the cobra bites on his back leg. I sit with the other two out in the courtyard, drinking my coffee, rubbing silky black dog ears. I watch my spotty horse. I call him, “Boeliboelieboelieboelie” in a high pitched rolling bubbling sound. He knows it. His ears prick up and he stares earnestly at me from his stable, demanding breakfast. Slowly the bad dreams start to curl away, as morning stretches like a cat, slowly, slowly, a white morning pleasingly licking itself.
My man boy child stumbles out, a crumpled face, mumbling, “Hi Ma. Did it rain last night?”
Kitchen Board: Thursday Morning: Austere.
time for more water already and a vague reminder about new exercise regime...
things are looking austere. and rather dry.
i think the board needs decorating, rather.
toodely ole toot, y'all..and bisous X.X.X. gravely tender ones. x j