Tuesday, January 22, 2013

The knots behind the tapestry

Here at the foot of Table Mountain is a long, wide overhang where you are embraced by rocks. It is a quiet spot with many sounds.
Water drips from the roof of the overhang, a breeze rustles the trees, then drily rubs the long grass stems cascading over a ledge. A man with white plastic sunglasses runs past with thudding feet that fade away. A pigeon shakes its wings and hops into the mossy puddle where the water drips down.
There are no pictures of these sounds, but they are the knots behind the tapestry.


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