Loop ek Pavitra se blog raak, toevallig, en vind onder anderre hierdie klein juweeltjie. Daar is meer van dit, en elkeen sielvol neergepen.
Footsteps in the hall and the familiar sound of a key turning in its lock. My husband is home. He drops his lunch bag by the door like a schoolboy. Hurry, he says, there’s something time-sensitive you need to see. I am pulled to my feet by curiosity and the urgency in his voice. We hustle into the cool, dark arms of a January night. “There,” he says, pointing. And I see it. Low in an ink black sky, a glowing vowel. The incandescent moon. Floating in the valley like a delinquent bauble, barely skimming the tip of an ancient pine. I want to stretch my hands out to it like a child. How many millennia old is that impulse? How old is the relationship between mortals and the moon? Time-sensitive… Like falling leaf the phrase flutters and gleams in the moonlight. I consider its truth and poetry for the first time, unsettled by awe. Hurry (whoever-wherever-whenever you are). There’s something time-sensitive you need to see.
Uiteindelik is alles wat om ons gebeur tydsensitief. Jy sal dit nooit presies weer so hoor, sien, voel, beleef nie.
Maak gou. Kyk, luister, proe met die siel, elke oomblik.