Rose amongst thorns

I go walking most mornings here is Somerset West, my childhood hometown. I walk along familiar streets,looking at old haunts, houses of friends long gone and marvelling at the affluence of some areas: palatial residences with swanky Francophile names , high walls, ornate gates and immaculate gardens. It's all slightly mad.

Every now and then, I come across an older home, thatched roof, thick,white plastered walls with an overgrown garden , parched and missing the accessory of neighbouring gardens, the automatic irrigation system.

I think it is all the more beautiful for its abandon. The wild creeps in.


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