The dawning of the Winter Solstice comes slowly to the Vaal River. Where shafts of sunlight would already be falling in the summer months, parallel headlights now cut the mist into a crisscross maze of light and dark.
Black shapes, more reminiscent of Yaks than people with their layers upon layers of clothing, stumble blearily over the wet grass, occasionally treading on each other’s toes or elbowing eye sockets. Stiff, numb fingers work in frozen silence until the last bolt has been tightened, the last footboard adjusted, the last forgotten slide remembered and pinched from a neighbouring trailer.
And then the 5am stillness is shattered in every direction by the creak of boats, the soft thwack of blades hitting water, and shouts of “heads,” “take a side!” and “who’s motherloving idea was this?” Continue reading “Gently Down the Stream”