Hans Wiesman

THE DAKOTA HUNTER

IT is a win­ter af­ter­noon in 1970. I know it’s win­ter be­cause the grass is brown and the Joburg sky is that wide, pale, cloud­less blue and I can smell the dust in the air. am play­ing on the swing in the gar­den, won­der­ing if I could get enough ve­loc­ity...

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