Gran

My memories of childhood drift

Like lazy clouds across a blue African sky

Their phantom shapes not quite discernable

Their misty emotions forever changing

Storm clouds are rare among them -

Fleeting electric flashes of self-indulgent anger

Dull, distant thunder-rolls of disturbing fear

Most are wispy, white, feather clouds -

Good-weather scripts of promise and confidence

Magnetic spray patterns of compelling destiny

Some are fluffy cotton wool clouds -

Comforting blankets of cosy support

Wrapped around in a warm joyful embrace …

Like my memories of you, Gran

I remember silver pots of steaming weak tea

And feeding fat earthworms in the mulch patch

And tracking giant Matabele ants in the scorching dust

I remember yummy picnics in the park

And fishing fever at the dam

And trips to the mystical Matopos to gaze from God's window

I remember playful yapping dogs

And sweet spoils from Meikles

And exciting excursions to Eskimo Hut

I remember thrilling pulsing electrical storms

And intoxicating raindrops on parched bush

And scented carpets of lilac Jacaranda

I remember magical sooty overnight train rides

And roadside treasure hunts for carvings

And awesome encounters with elephant elders

I remember your caring inquisitive way

With random strangers on beaches and benches

And you, resplendent in green, at our wedding celebration

I remember always your welcome lap

And your tinkling chuckle and ready mischievous smile

And your safe secure hand folded around mine

Gran, you billow graciously over the horizon of my life -

A shining fluffy cloud of my childhood

Tinted now with shimmering shades of glowing love

An archetype of everything that Grans are meant to be

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