Although loadshedding is not something we want to encourage, it is here to stay until the miraculous happens and some semblance of civilisation is restored. So in the meantime we should work our schedules around it to minimise inconvenience and enjoy the blessed silence that comes along once or even twice a day. Like today. Our second leashed was between 18h00 and 20h30, a time of day when the home is at its noisiest - people coming back from work, lots of traffic, TV on to catch a sitcom or music playing while I'm clattering away in the kitchen. There is something very satisfying about clashing of pots and pans - lets off a little steam if the day has had some irritating moments!
But in the silence, I can hear the tumbling of the waves at the Outer Kom, just on the other side of the milkwoods. I go out onto the balcony and breathe in the cool sea air as it becomes an onshore drift with the setting of the sun. Surfers give warning shouts as they jostle for position on the small but clean break in the bay. Children's voices carry up from the Kom where a last game is being played on the lawns before supper.
Close by, a robin chatters softly in the branches as it settles down for the night, hopefully far from the reach of my marauding cats. The flock of sacred ibis swish by in their perfect V on their way back to roost in Hout Bay, a firm and steady beat of a hundred wings. Overhead, the sky darkens and the crescent moon gets a chance to illuminate without competition from street lights. The first stars flicker into view. And then loadshedding is over and the magic is gone.
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