Dagmar never much expressed a view on anything. As an illegal, it was in her own best interest not ever to be noticed. But that wasn’t the real reason she kept to herself.
Dagmar’s real reason was that she was afraid.
“You have to understand I am afraid. That is why I have come to this place,” she once said, pronouncing each syllable precisely, to Rayleen.
“Afraid of what, pet?”
“Of everything.”love in the fourth dimension
Sounds take on a different texture. They seem richer and more varied. The wail of a police siren was deafening when it cut across a conversation; now it interrupts my thoughts pleasantly, as a logical punctuation to my train of thought. I listen to the siren pass, then carefully step back into my thoughts. The bark of a dog, the rustle of the trees, the squick of my wet trainers on the pavement: all these things are the soundtrack to the world, which human conversation does nothing but drown out. Words do not add anything useful.on losing my voice for a fortnight
The villagers from just outside Kumasi town had gathered in two lines on either side of the road that gently snaked up the hill. The two lines of people met at a throng on the hill's crest, where Chief Kwaku Dua's grand white colonial mansion stood. Oh, the sight of the waiting crowd alone was enough to stir such excitement that one would have been forgiven for not holding down one's breakfast. I remember watching the hornbills overhead in the cloudless azure sky. Their flight usually regal and relaxed, on this day their movement was oddly jagged, as if they could not keep straight bearings. Was it that they saw two pythons lying on the hill below, in a mating dance? Pythons of sizes large enough to raise their bodies high into the skies and pluck out the hornbills? Pythons with scales of iridescent hues?nana yaa, kwaku dua and the green-gold fire