One day, perhaps, I will take you to the places that I go to when I miss you
and we will see the moon turn to deep amber in the morning light
before it sets, full-bellied, behind the constantiaberg hills
and hear our footprints scrunching on the frost, white as snow on crisp blades of grass
and our noses will turn to freezing and go a little wet in the morning air
as we listen to the sounds of the birds waking up and stretching
and we will see the low mist creeping around corners and whirling above the water
and hear the flamingos gabbling away and watch as the rising sun draws them to life
and their reflections become clearer and their pinks grow brighter in the dawning light
and the colours of the sky will change from crimson to iridescent orange in the east
as the sun pops out from its hiding place and shakes the world to life.

Then I will show you where the mellanistic sparrow-hawk has built her nest
and where the sunbird likes to frolic in the warm midday sun
bouncing and weaving from one tree to the next
as the dewdrops shimmer like pearls on the long grasses fluttering gently in the breeze
and we will walk to the hill that the shy cape gerbils have turned to emmenthal
and we will stop and look at their tiny paw-prints in the soft white sand
and smell the fynbos as we brush past, weaving a path through it
to where the grey-backed cisticolas play hide and seek, calling across the bush-tops
and we will watch the stilts take off in fright and fight the wind
their long legs trailing like red ribbons behind them
as the blacksmith plovers cry out in alarm at our intrusion.

We will walk along the hippo paths until we see, right in the middle of a hippo-spoor
the tiniest elongated heart-shaped print of a grysbok
and if we’re lucky we will see her moon-eyes staring up at us before she darts for cover,
her ears so long and fluffy, her back as dark as redwood
and we will look up and see squadrons of sacred ibises in perfect formation
as they bank to drop down to the shoreline to roost for the night
and we will hear the fish eagle as he calls his mate home for the night
and as we walk back bats will begin to dart and dive around us and over us
a water mongoose will scurry up the path ahead of us
and the nightjar will glide past on silent wings in the fading light
as one by one each star will appear in the evening sky.
One day, perhaps.