Work on the Venda Sun continues

This tree in a park in Palermo reminds me of South Africa - the giant trees of the Kruger National Park as well as the old tangled trees on Risenga's land in Venda. It also reminds me of the fallen oak I used to climb in Windsor Great Park as a child and the yew in Stanmer Park cemetery which Mrisi and Giya played in when they were small.

I showed the Venda Sun early draft to a good friend Roger Moss who gave me some brilliant advice and so I'm back to the story now, trying to make sense of my own fascination with South Africa, trying to make sense of being nearly 61 (a matter of days) and finding the threads that will bring my diaries into my present.

Reading gives me confidence to dart around within memory and between Europe and the tip of the African continent. Family too.

I still don't know what to call it. Most of the time, when someone asks, it's 'the South African diaries book'. I should start to call it by its name. There's a way to go but I am basking in the indulgence of writing again. Loving the freedom. Today, at 5.30 am, it felt like being part of a dawn chorus in the dark.