Singajo's world

They shaked heads. ‘No, not far ’. And we believed. The harpoongirls walked with naked feet in front of us. Dancing,  floating as fairies over pools and rocks.We met  on their way to a huntingplace, while we were in search of that untraceable waterfall, a whole day long . We had followed different tracks, (that) a dozen of villagers had suggested. No path was the right one. Until those fairies came. Smiling, pointing, suggesting to follow them. We did. The rocks were dangerously slippery. They were swift and fast. We stumbled, slipped and fell again and again. They laughed with our clumsiness, kept on jumping gracefully from rock to rock. Soaked and hypnoticed we didn’t gave up. At least, after another hour of following the blackhaired girls, we could hear the falling water. The final descent to go. They waited for us. Annoyed they  took over our luggage  for the  last crossover through the river, wading chestdeep with our bags above their heads. We had to swim   And then finally we saw it; that miserable line of water.  After our walk of hell we had hoped for a Niagarakind of thing. All we saw was a  clunzy water tap in overdrive. Nevertheless we dove into the tiny  pool. And balanced under the falling water while the harpoongirls followd our movements. They were sitting in the gras , watched over us  like sfinxes. Proud. They wisphered and looked curiosly in our bags. The sun was gone, the dark was there .Naive beautyness as in a child’s drawning.

Our waterfall. And the one of the harpoongirls.

(noot: bij wijze van oefening ben  ik zo vrijpostig te berichten in een verbasterde vorm van de taal van Shakespeare. Omdat het moet. Na een jaar aan het andere eind zijn m’n Engelstalige capaciteiten nog steeds en op alle vlak ondermaats. Ik wil daar graag en snel verandering in brengen. En daar bent u het slachtoffer van.)