Birds are blowing off branches. The hatches in the ceiling have been sucked up into the roof. The neighbour's shadecloth is shredded. Poles are scattered from their piles. The sacred ibis have completely given up even attempting their customary elegant v-formation and are just tumbling untidily through the sky, leaderless and lost. A couple of them went by with a wing tucked underneath them, sideways to the direction they were trying to fly. Pigeons can't perch. The swooping sparrowhawk is completely off course.
Stepping outside gives gritting your teeth new meaning, as you spit grit and leaves from an incautiously opened mouth. The last of the leaves on the vines have gathered in a corner, an easy sweep into the compost.
The sea has churned and turned a muddy green as the offshore gale pushes the tide backwards, well on its way to South America by now! Within a few days this will blow itself out and the sea will revert to its Mediterranean blue, crystal clear, and we will have forgotten how dreadful Cape Town is in a southeaster. The birds will be back on branches, trees will reach for the sky again and we will be able to open our mouths outdoors again.
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