Recuperation

Yesterday, when I opened the window to garner inspiration from the dawn - because I'd woken exhausted - the deck outside was glistening wet and there was only a millimeter separating the battleship-gray ocean from a heavy set and elephant-gray sky.
In that moment I knew I needed a duvet day; that I needed to rest and recuperate.
I was in Zinkwazi for the previous night and felt pressured to hit the road with the work I had to do. It's a pressure that turbulently lives in your gut, and is particularly intense if you're self-employed, self-sufficient. It's not easy to stop, your month-end salary's never guaranteed.
But it's been a year, so far, of incredible pressure, high intensity and change: it's a new chapter that thus far sees me walking a tightrope of flux, fluidity and faith in the next blind step. Rest is what I needed.
In this year, particularly, I've learnt about the importance of striving towards life/work balance.
That's why i decided to spend the entire day in a bed, mostly sleeping and resting. Only much later in the day did I surface, an hour before sunset (which comes very early, relatively speaking of course), in this part of the world.
I picked my way along the damp and deserted beach; then back on the beach road gulped in deeply the heavily-laden-salt-humid-lush-vegetation-imbibed lukewarm air despite that it's winter.
It was moisture and scents I was unfamiliar with. As was the calm and quiet of a seaside village that casually enwrapped me in its arms, made me feel welcome, and gave me rest.
And gave me a well-deserved cappuccino as the weak sun faded to black.