Dublin Dec 1 2009 – Before Africa

ear Readers, can I please offer you a touch of light reading while I study over Peter Carey’s Far East mystery novel, aptly embodied in its high literary sense called, My Life as a Fake? I have once more been clinging to the little book with renewed sparkle in my eyes. In case I make no sense, do scroll down a little and you will read that I am about to relive the story in a passionate attempt to write out my first literary journey.

Below is a fantasy snippet I wrote in Dublin on the afternoon before I flew to Tanzania for a Kilimanjaro climb. Already, I  had sunk into a mild  homesickness for Ireland.

I should explain that I live in a highrise apartment block in a suburb close to the city. The radiant moon appears to take delight in floating past my tall balcony windows anytime it so chooses at dusk or with a  deliberate ghostly effect on vague shadowy nights. In my little story, I talk about its visit at an earlier Kilimanjaro climb when I braved the steep Machame route. Then, the moon at the Shiraz campside  had breezed in, with a glorious largeness that was wondrous to behold. Please enjoy:

********
by Susan Abraham

“In a rare appointment, the full moon mounted up from nowhere to peer down at my balcony. At four in the afternoon, the skyscape still clung to a murky blue. The moon wore her anxious silver smile, lest she miss my Dublin departure and now hoped to stand precedence over my packing with expert eyes.

For months, we had shared many a romantic rendezvous in the matchmaking twilight. Would I not accept her shaky reflection as a gift?

I asked if she had forgotten her recent antics up Shira Hut on the Kili’s Machame route.Then decked in her necklaced halo, she had played hide-and-seek with the snowcap, acted the ghost with a ferocious howling wind and ballooned up to Jupiter size with monstrous ease as she teased fatigued climbers all night long. Now she stared longingly, tiny in her sadness, like a mother mute with love for a child.
Only just now, a seagull had whistled on its way but stopped subdued in mid-flight. Bashful, the bird would pay silent homage to the sentiment that quickly unfolded before my misty eyes.”

Credit: Free clip art courtesy of Karen Whimsy.com

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: