Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Umhlanga, yesterday. Right on heart
A smile dripping with the joy of life. As if life was a big, ripe mess of all the earth's finest fruits; the juice, its fleshes, dripping, congealing, clotting in my beard, and brows, and on my lashes, into the hair on my chest.
So instead of heading home yesterday afternoon, as per 'normal', and after an intense day, and despite the weather, I slowly walked and photographed Umhlanga's esplanade; and enjoyed its village cafes; sucking the marrow from
life's bone; and confusing my metaphors.
My first reward was the salt-thick and heavy air that raced my pulse.
Walking into to local CNA, old fashioned with the reek of books and magazines, it was reminiscent of an old-style stationery shop, not a chain store. I breathed in deep that reek too. And smiled wide.
There I - almost - allowed myself the pleasure of buying two locally written and very recently published books; both of them exceptional examples of investigative journalism: Adriaan Basson's Zuma Exposed, Julian Rademeyer's Killing for Profit, about the despicable rhino horn trade.
But I didn't. Because I'm a minimalist and have streamlined and simplified my life: despite my overwhelming addiction to, and passion for books, I am taking the eBook route, which I confess I know nothing about. For the second half of my life I am traveling light and uncluttered. My thousand or so books are being redistributed as I type these words.
I savoured the two old white ducks chirruping and folding-and-unfolding knotted, gnarled hands on a bench close to the Beverly Hills. I smiled widely at their summery, breezy frocks and sensible pumps.
Still grinning I watched with a seagull eye the oily surfer-boy-seals; their boards invisible, they were nothing more than black ink drops on gray velvet, not yet absorbed.
My heart, wide open to life, was deeply satisfied by my deviation; and it cost nothing, and extended my life by at least 365 days.