The Way The Wind Blows... - Live Writing

There are nights in the sea-side suburb of Muizenberg when you know things 'out there' are going haywire, when the wind - the southeaster - slaps the palms against the garage roof and the gate reapeatedly shudders in its frame, when a host of unnatural noises has you sleeping in fretful fits and starts; knowing on a blustery night such as this, trouble is whipped up.

I woke at four am to some loud bang - an accident on Boyes Drive? A brick through a car window? The dogs down the road were barking berserk, but my old faithful, my early- warning system - my dog, not my husband - was quiet. I rolled on my stomach, covered my head with a pillow, wishing dawn wasn't so close. Probably it's a crash, I thought, an early truck thwacking into Muizenberg Bridge. As I drifted in the uneasy space between sleep and waking, the scene of a previous crash at the infamous railway bridge, which spans Atlantic Road leading to the ocean, came to mind full-colour against my fluttering eyelids.....

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