Lying discarded on the side of the road is a rusty old bed spring. Idly I wonder how it got there, then pick it up to throw in the bin when we get home. My little girl and I begin to pick grasses and wild flowers from the Karoobossies as we amble along, kicking up the powdery dust as we go.
We never quite make it to the river. Deciding it's too hot to walk any further, we turn around and head home. When we get back we are parched. Our daughter fills a jug with cold water, and freshly picked mint leaves. Ice cubes clank and crackle in our glasses as we quench our thirst. "We have the most delicious water in the world, don't we Mamma," she announces proudly. I agree.