Our favourite season is coming round again. Soon winter and its hateful weather will be forgotten. After all, spring only lasts for a week or two.
We were happy last Thursday when we arrived home in the evening. As usual the poor orphans of Dawn Park had had to wait longer than anyone for taxis. I do not know why Chris Hani's nieces and nephews - the people among whom he lived and died - are treated shabbily.
We are charged a high fare because the drivers claim that a trip to our township is like a long distance journey.
Surely the drivers make more money per trip on less fuel than those travelling elsewhere. I wonder if the residents of Protea Glen in Soweto, which is almost in the bundus of the province, are told the same fib.
I mean Protea Glen is practically kissing the Free State - or is it North West? I no longer know what town belongs to what province. The government should issue new maps.
I saw the map that school children use. Gauteng has been liposuctioned to a thin sliver aka Kate Moss. It seems that the other provinces have embarked on a silent and treacherous land grab against the people of Gauteng.
We will soon be forced to march for more land from the national government. We just can't continue giving our heritage away.
Anyway, the wait at the taxi rank was bearable as the biting wind had died down. For once we were allocated one of the new modern recapitalisation buses which swallowed us comfortably.
We were all hefty and fat as we wear half our wardrobes in winter. It is a foolish person who chooses fashion over warmth in our harsh climate.
The youth hardly cover up. But that is the folly of youth, which will keep doctors in Mercedes Benzes and BMWs for the foreseeable future.
Older and wiser heads cast a disgruntled eye on these scantily clad youngsters. Their consolation was the malicious certainty that rheumatism, arthritis, water in the knees and weak lungs will exact vengeance for this shortsightedness. Such are the few pleasures afforded those whose clock is winding down fast in the opposite direction.
Back to our journey home. We were half an hour late getting a taxi, which was a blessing in disguise. The taxi glided over the highway without having to stop-start as the peak hour was almost over.
Everyone was quiet and apprehensive as we contemplated walking home in pitch darkness. The sky got darker and darker and then paused.
Then the miracle happened. We could still see our fellow passengers' faces. The sky is becoming lighter as winter ebbs. In deep winter even the whites of the eyes are almost invisible. I cheerily said night-night to one of the frisky Mandela Born Frees. All was forgiven as I thought of warm, bright days and the freedom to go anywhere without layers and layers of clothes.