It's a state of confusion, I suppose. The first day I spent in Camps Bay found failure in placing the feeling...likely, because I'd never known it - the sight of clouds spilling over the side of Table Mountain. I walked out my front gate and looked right - liquid apocalypse - white mist bleeding over the Twelve Apostles. It felt like the end of the world of my imagination. One of serenity, forgiveness...of beauty sends us reeling, falling on heels. How tragic it is, a chap trapped with ideals that every day fall farther into the minority...
Again, I self daunt…usually for the sake of. Some claim it poor form – sharing a property line with nail biting or public masturbation. It’s a habit, yes…though I will to the day I die, dispute their judgment. It’s like a Slurpee of flavor life rejuvenation – self daunt…in case I lost you.
If I want sushi, jazz or movies that only work in South African DVD players, I step straight out the front gate, try my best to remember everyone in this country drives on the sinister side of the street. I cross, give it anywhere from 12-50 paces. Convenience, though lovely…hardly inspiring.
To my left sits (sorry, life knows little of fairness) the most beautiful beach I've ever set foot. And allow my reminder that these feet have found many, especially lately. The water is clear, blisteringly cold. Wind shoots across this land like a crazed criminal, dusts the cove before its prowess is absorbed...eaten alive by the ocean.
Between it all…Rikkis, Black Taxis, white clothed lawn bowling. There’s a charming gap toothed, tongue blowing, cane donning corner poster (who will certainly soon speak here in exclusivity) I’m going to call Dewey. The sun is sweet and the season is starting. Worries swirl seldom. At times, I forget who I am. But it didn’t take long, in this place so far away, this place that will have me for the next 6 weeks…this place became my home.
Welcome.
