On December 21st nineteen-sometime-ago.

We stopped at the ‘Wilds’, a wonderful park in Houghton, Johannesburg, for a sip of water and a little break.

We sat on the grass alongside a goldfish fishpond and talked about creativity.

About how important it is to express those effervescent feelings that bubble inside your soul like lava deep within a sleeping volcano.

About how art or writing or music or dance is a fissure through which those feelings can flow.

About the sensation one has when those feelings erupt in the form of energy and are finally able pass through your body and into the medium you have chosen as a conduit.

About how brilliant it feels when you see the reflection of that energy in someone else’s eyes.

About how satisfied and relieved you feel once the energy has been expended.

About how exciting it feels when the energy starts stirring deep within your soul again, especially when you feared that the previous eruption might have been your very last.

About how important it is to sit by a goldfish pond and talk about creativity.

It was the last bicycle ride I ever had with my dad and I think about it often. Especially when those effervescent feelings start to bubble inside my soul like lava deep within a sleeping volcano.