I've chosen a magnificent day to begin - with great resistance I confess - my trek back home to the khaki highveld, which, to be frank, is not feeling as central in my life as it has for the last five years.
I'm in the midstream of change and gloriously turbulent fluidity (I'm letting go), and at this point I'm wonderfully between two distant and hazy-for-now river banks ... and thoroughly enjoying watching the droplets being joined.
I said goodbye, again, to Lee at the ocean front before dropping him off at Sugar Bay; I'll see him in just over two weeks.
Despite the chill in the air I've driven with the window open and my arm out in the sunshine: I'm not allowing myself a second of complacency, I don't want to miss a thing.
I'm hesitating with heading out of here, although I know I must: I don't want to transition Melmoth's watershed from the lush subtropical green I'm savoring now, to winter-dry-and-barren. But, from experience, I know I'll be fine on the other side.
I'll be lighting the tinder, and wood, in my bedroom fireplace in preparation...
I must be disciplined.
And I have an important funeral at 11h00 tomorrow.
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