Meg's Musings

Still Melancholy I suppose

The most beautiful place I have seen in my lifetime is a valley in the Eastern Highlands of Zimbabwe. I entered it along the western ridge in the golden hours of the afternoon. How can I describe it? The grass rolled down the valley’s sides in thick green-gold waves. The mountains above it melted into shades of pink and purple, gold and ochre. The sky was still topaz above me and I felt as though I had unannounced wandered into God’s resting place.

I set up my tent half way down and took the mile hike to the northern caves. The razor grass was not soft—it frayed my jeans, but I’ve never been in a sea of grass like that before or since. No trace of my passing behind me. No trace that anyone had ever passed before. I think I sang. I’m sure I prayed. It was the sort of walk where the beauty is heartbreaking and yearning in the soul goes unsatisfied because it’s not for earthly things.

As it will, the afternoon continued on. I met one of the people I was traveling with. He had a stove so we shared a meal before I climbed back up to my camp. It was good. Simple, rice and cheese, but good. There are so many….things like this I want to share. The stories seem to be worn out, but the memories are so clear sometimes. I’m like an Alzheimer’s patient who wakes up and remembers life for a moment. The orphanage, the university, Gardner, the chicken busses, the choir, the woman who wanted a knife, African Unity Square, Strachen’s, Mbare.

Mbare is when brings this up tonight. I walked here. There are no letters. There is no email. It has been eight years. There is a time to grieve and apparently it is not over.

posted by Me @ 17:51