Monkey in a tree

I spent most of my time in Pretoria when I wasn’t at school up a tree with a book.

The tree was above a small round swimming pool at the top of the garden; green and dark.

Sometimes a monkey would keep me company.

She would perch on my shoulder, pulling out the pins that kept my bun in place until my hair fell round my shoulders.

I hope she was looking for salt, not nits.

I remember the quick pat of her small black hands, wrinkled and old; and the stiff feel of her grey fur.

Her expression was cool, analytical; unjudging. She was who she was; I was me.

So there we were; swinging gently together

On the same branch

Of the same tree.

Advertisements

One thought on “Monkey in a tree

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s