I discovered increasingly that ‘place’ has spirit, a beingness that holds memory, especially now that I live in the Karoo landscape at the foot of the majestic Swartberg mountain range. This landscape is delineated by the looming mountain, especially the peak ‘Goue Krans’, the waterfall that sustains us, the olive trees that play with the senses and master a multitude of sensuous forms, the dry riverbeds, the Acacia trees, and all the other trees on the farm.

This ‘spirit’ also lives in the ancient ‘renosterbos,’ the shining stones embedded with crystals and stone formations resembling human forms. It frolics in the grey soil, the cracked clay next to the dam and flirts with the roots of fallen trees, the colour of the sky against the mountain and the illustrious moon and stars twinkling through the leaves of the tall blue gum trees. It also shimmers in the lavender and rosemary fields, which scent the air with blue-purple healing notes, and in the bashful eyes of the almost extinct Riverine Rabbit that listens to the sounds of nature with extra-large ears.

This ‘spirit’ dwells in the presence of the cawing crows guarding the world against shadowy intrusions and in the symphony of twittering finches building their homes in the tall blue gum trees.

This ‘spirit’ of place roams in the ruins of a clay house, whispering the elusive anguish and joy of a human home left behind. The paths between the trees, the many eyes of animals watching every move, the leopard in the shade of a tree overlooking the Valley – a place embedded in the earthly visitable spaces – which gathers spirit and soul through creatively renewed and embodied feelings and patterns of being.

the chanting mountain

vibrates in timbres of gold

reverberating

The golden mountain chants a capella – gently pleasing and tender