Lying in the middle of the upstairs room bed I can smell the liquid scent and hear the breakers, also the Easter weekend traffic on the N2 between Durban and Port Shepstone.
I've not been in the wooden A-frame house an hour: the locked-up damp holiday home reek is still wonderfully cloying to my senses, ghosts of alone times, and relationship times, scurry past the edges of my peripheral vision.
I'm here to rest and re-orientate myself.
It's dark. I'm alone. And exhausted. And I need to shave.
As I unlocked and aired, I saw forward with sadness to the locking up and the leaving. But I remind myself to remain in the now.
Lee, on the North coast, is picnicking tonight. Me, at Hibberdene on the South coast, I'm munching on muesli, unscrunching my tired eyes, and looking forward to sleep.
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