We have all sorts of wonderful wildlife living in our street, from a cantankerous porcupine to a pair of dikkops (I beg your pardon, Thick Knees) striped mice, wattled plovers and, as of October last year, gray hornbills.
One evening whilst daydreaming at the kitchen window I glimpsed an owl gliding silently down the road and landing in the dead tree I have refused to cut down.
In the garden, fighter bats perform breathtaking aerobatic displays at dusk as we sit under the thatch of the boma on the lawn near the swimming pool. Small frogs with alarmingly deep voices and who view this spot as their own graciously update us on their progress as they clear the bugs, flies and mozzies so that we can take a glass or two in peace. Skittish ghekos eye us warily, little pulses throbbing in their throats as they cling to the walls.
This is why I have allowed the wild grasses to grow at the bottom of the street. We are the last house in the cul-de-sac and the landscape maintenance of the patch outside falls to us.
I am deeply proud of the landscape choice I have made; a little haven to counter the tweezer-lipped edgings, the painfully pruned, snipped, fertilized and sprayed sterile pavements that abound in suburbia. I shall defend it with all my resources. Landscape committee take note
Sunday, January 30, 2011
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