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Well-Springs of Hope Lost and Found

Well-Springs of Hope Lost and Found

Author: Jo Rushby
Date: 2022-07-28

''Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature - the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter" (Rachel Carson, The Silent Spring).

The country of my birth, England, is obsessed with the weather. It's on everybody's lips. It is a wonder because for most of the year, the weather map is filled with cloud, rain and plunging temperatures. But now, a new mania is sweeping the Island. A heatwave blazes, the likes of which have never been witnessed before. The Empire in which the sun was never to set has settled a scorching gaze on its shores. Listening to the Brits, you would swear they are living in the eye of Dante's Inferno.

But here in this corner of Africa, a re-birth beckons. Spring. As a youngster, I read and marvelled at the stories of bird migrations to the South at this time of year; falcons, storks and kingfishers. How did they map their way across thousands of miles with a feat of stamina the envy of any Comrades runner? And still, the fascination remains. The birds, once arrived, twirl and swirl like Nijinsky's Ballet Russes.

The swift, laboring insistence of insects - Within, the pulse of slow growth in sap-dark cores, (Ellen Hinsey)

This is my best time of year. Winter is past and we are on the cusp of the future. The sun reaches you but never envelops. Evenings are crisp and the moon sheds its load and turns the Indian Ocean into a tantalizing ochre. Whales blow and breach and flowers puff with colour.

Suddenly, our step is lighter, mood brighter, the laughter naughtier. Up and down the coast, the Spring Ball is bouncing. Surfboards are out. Braais are flaring. Vegans are flourishing. The bunny chow sprouts beans and bursts of flatulence.

In the distance, there is a Bugle calling. Of hope and resurrection. How did Homer put it in The Iliad? 'Generations of people are like leaves. The wind casts the leaves to the ground, but the fertile forests brings for1h others, and spring comes round again'.

There is a growing anticipation that comes with its onset, almost as though we are about to sprout another limb, wings even. Here, the Protea resurrects itself through fire. Known as the African Lotus, it derives from the Greek God Proteus, Son of Poseidon, symbolic of transformation, metamorphosis. DH Lawrence springs to mind: And I, what fountain of fire am I among This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed

About like a shadow buffeted in the throng Of flames, a shadow that's gone astray, and is lost.