Wet for my jog to the view point. Calves screaming up the gradient. Wounded buffalo breathing scaring the tourists.

Polly up for her walk. Dark and grey. Surf pounding, although that could be from the last ‘meaningful glass’ of wine after Coreta’s dinner.
Paints sluggish in the cooler weather. Working through my stock of paint tubes, there are a few that have the consistency of porridge, which is great for impasto, but difficult to keep the colours clean as they smear into each other.
When we pass the lagoon on our way in and out of town, a rowing boat used by fisherman catches our attention. It’s position continually changing with tide, and use. ‘Reflections’, a painting of the rowing boat reflected in mirror smooth waters. 
I used the figure of 8, lying on its side, technique to get the proportions of the boat correct. It’s a simple way if ensuring that the curves, and proportions work effortlessly together.

Pouring rain, smoking fire. Champagne, and excellent red wine to celebrate the next phase of our lives, looking out at the yachts anchored outside the apartment. Tenants have moved out and we begin the renovations. A gazillion decisions on where to route pipes, how to affect the open ceiling, while minimizing the need for major construction. Making allowances for the unknown as we don’t know what summer will be like, where the winds will drive from, and the impact this has on an open loft area. The electrical distribution box disappointingly positioned so as to necessitate a review of where cupboards were planned to go. 
That moment, balanced on a slippery wooden beam, with a mud bath on either side of the narrow plank, when you wonder if speed is better than caution? I didn’t fall off the beam, which in its own way was amazing. As was the view to the distant mountains shrouded in the storms that had filled the night with thunder. 
This, our visit to the sawmill, to look at wooden flooring samples for the apartment. Imported exotics, or local wood that may not be the perfect colour, but are sensitive to the environment. Creates jobs, and perhaps negligible in the scheme of wars, famine and FIFA, uniquely ours.
Reflections, a small painting in reds and yellows, that reminds me of the quilt I had made by the remarkable people at Kalahari Quilts in Gaborone.