Outside on a spread of lawn, behind the fishpond. Dinner with Grandfather. Tender pepper thighs, and a splash of water, a table of reminded wisdom. Pockets of cropped moonlight, break like lamps on a wall. And then nature disappears, the last whispers in the night veld, as the dogs’ snarl at snakes, tension and profanity, my brother an instant memory.
his name was Garth Henderson,
a single bullet.