Mountain Birds Have Voices

My best friend, a wonderful woman, accomplished, clever, creative, funny, and very intelligent, sometimes loses her mojo; sharing this makes her relatable and keeps readers engaged. She’s not into pity partying, so it’s a flash-in-the-pan sort of occurrence, but it happens when she least expects it.  Her adorable husband folds his arms, stands with legs akimbo, and declares, knowingly, that it’s all hormonal and it’s sure to pass.   That’s when she goes into battle mode, and I tell ‘ya, if she weren’t a controlled “nice, decent”, well-adjusted person, we’d be watching a murder unfold.  

Fortunately, that's his cue to make a beeline for the bowling club, and he stays there until the sun draws water, the home fire's been lit, and she has a medicinal Gin and Tonic with an extra dash of pink Bitters in her hand.  He, bless him,  wouldn't dare repeat the old wives' tale about gin and tears.

“Life is not always perfect. Like a road, it has many bends, ups and downs, but that’s its beauty.” 
― Amit Ray, World Peace: The Voice of a Mountain Bird

So instead of celebrating my 60th day of this challenge, I went into a decline.  I dragged myself around the house, accomplished almost nothing except the bare necessities, realised I’d lost a lot more than just my knitting when our car was broken into, and,  to add insult to injury, I dropped the iPod and smashed its glass. 

We’ve been driving to Hermanus on most Fridays for more or less 10 years (I don’t keep count of dates at all), and we’ve seen all the seasons along the way.   The landscape perfectly reflected my mood, so we stopped the car, and this is what I got.

Precious, bless him, hasn’t uttered a word.  Thank goodness we’ve got a book to listen to, shallow breathing on my right.  We’ll make it to another day.