It is Monday night, 27 April 2020. We are still in the corona virus lock-down. I fell asleep early evening but woke up again about midnight. There was now a drizzling rain outside with a fairly strong wind. I can hear the palm trees swaying back and forth. What a beautiful sound – their slow brush and rustle against the sky and the dignified way in which they always hold their ground.

I started thinking of words, how much I love words. Words have color and words have fiber. These fibers create textures which we gently touch and they conjure up feelings and worlds in us.

Here are some of my favorite textured words:

"The Days of His Presence"
"The time of your visitation"
"They will shine like the brightness of the firmament"
"When skies were pale above white horizons"
"Where does the song resound that we hear from afar"
"The Song of Moses and the Song of the Lamb"
"It is for Your coming that the world has waited"

Wandering Spirits

We are the wandering spirits
that knows no rest,
like leaves driven on the wind
wherever it wants;
in the midst of people -
that haven't loved nor hated, -
but forsaken us -
with our dreams alone.
For no one that perceived
the dreams in our eyes,
will rest or be again
what they were before?
We wander where flowers, clouds 
and stars are 
because where does the song resound 
that we hear from afar 
We bind tomorrow, and the next day 
to the years, 
and flow through time 
as blood through the veins, 
through the grey and old world move we 
that are young and drunk with eternity
For who that perceived
the dream in our eyes
will rest or be again
what they were before?

NP Van Wyk Louw