Dead Tree by Claire R



Ten years ago, as newly-weds my husband and I moved into a little outbuilding on a strip of farmland in far-flung rural Kwazulu-Natal. Our new home was a little rectangle of bag-washed blocks and a tin roof. We had electricity but no kitchen, bathroom, or water. The farm manager and his wife and two kids lived nearby. Civilization, in the form of cellphone reception and shops, were an hour’s drive away. A river encircled us, and a mountain stood at our backs, so in summer’s flood, we were often corralled onto our bit of land for days at a time. We were blissfully happy. Through our little aluminum windows, we looked on a village of mud huts on the other side of the river, thorn trees scattered across the horizon. Framing this bucolic view were the boughs of a scraggly bark-bare orange tree, just outside…

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Author: dreamweaver333

I love to listen to the whispering of spirit.