On the banks of the river I sat near the house, under a tree. Close to the water, but not close enough to get wet. I watched Oupa Mike with an old, dirty hat shielding him from the sun on a canoe, chipping green paint in colour,  drifting in the middle of the river as he fished.

The sky would change colour. occasionally he would shift position.  He sat in that tiny canoe for hours and I would observe him and smile. It was wonderful and he was beautiful to me. Even as a child I appreciated solitude and bored was not a phrase I connected with. I never really gave much thought to my sitting watching Oupa, it is just what I did. I was safe, happy and we were alone – but together. Eventually as night came, he would make his way to the bank. I would help him carry his gear back to the house and…