I am back at the beautiful Bodhi Khaya. Sitting at my desk. Trying to motivate myself to pick up the threads of my work here.  But, it feels as if a part of my soul is still in Prince Albert, the magical place that was my home for the past three weeks.

As I packed up on Thursday this title repeatedly came to me :”Praying my goodbyes”. It comes, I think, from an article or book I read many years ago about loss and rituals for letting go.

As I put the cottage back the way I had found it, I used one of those rituals. In my mind I thanked Life and each space for the time I spent there. Also all the wonderful people I met during my stay in the Karoo.

I took photographs of every nook and cranny even though I know trying to capture the essence of what I experienced between those walls is not possible. Maybe it is not even necessary.  Because everything I saw and felt and went through is surely part of me now.

I drove to the entrance to Prince Albert to take pictures of the lime green mountain as you enter the town. The visitor’s board also featured.  It is special sign. I don’t know why, but it is humble. When Jan and I went walking in the Swartberg Pass we passed it and I pointed it out. He felt just the way I did.

Sitting here, I feel sad. Everyone was glad to see me and welcomed me back. Bodhi Khaya is still the beautiful, loving place I left when I went on this adventure.  But the Karoo has irrevocably stolen a part of my heart.

When I close my eyes, I still see the blue. blue skies with tiny white wispy clouds and tall wind pumps silhouetted against the rock strewn veld.  I hear water in the furrow racing into one of the oblong or round stone dams, see children playing. I remember the early morning Karoo light streaming past the beautiful embroidered Greek cloth that covers the small kitchen window. The cheerful greetings of passersbys fill my ears. I imagine walking briskly down the main street past Mix, the hotel, the Victorian house becoming a guest house called “Sudden Comfort”.

I picture the pretty prison and “Bougain Villa” with its brightly coloured blossom vines trained over the white walls, the Prince Albert Country store with Fred’s welcome mat, Sanderson linen cushions on the wicker chairs and all over the town: black mourning ribbons wrapped around trees gently, insistently protesting fracking in the Karoo.

I know there is plenty more I want to share about this place that was so good to me.  In the recalling I will gradually call my spirit back to be here with the rested and restored me.