"Cry, the beloved country, ...
Let him not love the earth too deeply. Let him not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire. Let him not be too moved when the birds of his land are singing, nor give too much of his heart to a mountain or a valley. For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much."
- Alan Paton
When he wrote this, I was the unborn child. I always wonder: did he mean me too? (But I have not lost all, and I have gained much. I guess then that I do, or did not love too deeply? Or am I not that child? You must be exhausted just reading this, but hey, sometimes one wonders.)
It feels so good to know the names of the trees again. Did you see the quiver trees?
Tomorrow we enter Namibia, and I do not know yet how we will connect to the internet, once there. I have so much more to say.
And if I am away for a while, "Well, then, "Merry Christmas, y'all!"