Following the cold front through the Natal Midlands and on to the Drakensburg: will there be snow on the mighty dragon's teeth?
Stopped at the Ugly Duckling in Rosetta, I stand with my backside to a log fire and joyfully, patiently thaw while the world around me collects and spends; I keep still and watch, stealing with my eyes.
The vegetation has transformed from the subtropical and verdant opulence of the KZN North Coast and Durban, even at winter's height, to a sparse but beautiful English winter garden.
Nevertheless I keep looking over my shoulder and blowing goodbyes to a hospitable and immensely friendly coastline that nursed me through my dire time of need... and transformation.
King and yellow pin proteas in a pink bucket on a wooden floor.
I've stopped at Peel's Honey in Merrivale, just after the Cato Ridge turnoff on the N3, merely to look, not to buy; I'm travelling light remember.
I'm on my way to a weekend in the Drakensburg, en route to Cape Town, where I anticipate arriving at next Wednesday evening.
It's moody and cold in the Natal Midlands; I'm happy to be here.
I'll probably be driving, happily, about 2000 kilometres to get to South Africa's Mother City, and my new life.
Drinking caramel vodka in bed while working and watching a winter sky slowly tatter up yesterday's perfect blue.
That's how I spent today.
Sounds rather rackish and libertine, but nothing of the sort. It's how I coped with the endless-flow-of-pages-boredom that challenges me this month.
And all of this as I wrap up, fold away, sometime up-tear, this rather compact transitioning chapter of my life.
I did a dry run pack-up today; I've got down to a boot and a half backseat full of possessions. In this province that is.
Next weekend I'm spending in the Drakensburg, before driving the 1, 800 kilometres to Cape Town on the Sunday or Monday. I pray for snow on the dragon's teeth.
Im going to blog everyday.
Are you coming with.
Cafe Jiran, North Beach.
Another coffee, but not just another coffee joint; most defintely not another appalling mall, but I enjoy the crowds and noise. That I'm anonymous but not alone in a sea of people; it's good for writing. People stimulate me. They also horrify me.
More coffee.
Words flow, just behind their thoughts. On a leash...
Life's pressured right now, as I complete the words, sentences and paragraphs of my current chapter, as I begin the mind-mapping of the next; I wait with excited anticipation for the fleshing out of the bones. Plenty of surprises.
My life's changing again. This time I'm much better prepared for it, emotionally and mentally. Unlike a year ago I'm, also, largely free of the hold that possessions could have on me; I'm travelling light: At the most a car boot full of stuff. At the least one medium-size suitcase.
As I mentally prepare by searching-and-clearing-and-deleting my mind's archives and store rooms - and as I embrace the beginning of the second half of my life - I am grappling with the concept of truth, MY truth.
As for Durban, and Kzn, I lavish them with long head-over-heels-in-love gazes. And sneak furtive S3 Instgaram glances. Love.
[The energy is low, the unenergetic words hardly flow; I post for the record, my record; for the discipline of putting words down irrespective of the strong sewerage desire of doing exactly the opposite.]
I'm at a favourite coffee joint watching the world go by; double Americano, passionate colour-red, and white.
The days are getting shorter, mid-winter's still about 15 days away. Today was the coolest I've experienced this winter: 23 degrees Celsius, a chilly wind but blue blue skies, and a choppy ocean brimming o'er with white mained horses. Nevertheless I'm only wearing a t-shirt and jeans. It's a red tshirt, my favourite.
It's been the third day in a row of teaching; I'm again pleasantly exhausted; satisfied.
I was at the venue early, to watch the dawn, to have coffee with myself, to meet my maker at the pages.
The last three days I've left home, in Salt Rock, at six. Then I've enjoyed a slow drive - never going faster than 80 - to La Lucia, along the M4: I love that drive along the ocean edge, especially the vessels haphazardly playing battleships between Umdloti and Durban as they wait, in all directions and at all angles, on the elephant gray (this morning) and textured slab of ocean.
I'll never tire of this particular perspective of my coastline.
Then tonight the milky bars of light suspended in the pot of charcoal coloured ink with its diamond stuffed lid. The same ships from today and yesterday, waiting for green, so as to enter the harbour.
Now to pull myself up and into the gym; I've long ago learnt about the importance of achieving balance. And that there really is much to be obtained from a tad of discipline, and pain.
Yeah right.
Sitting in my secret garden, far from the madding crowd, I'm surrounded by the miracle of life: my spinach seedlings are doing well; two sturdy pea shoots have pushed through the loam this very morning; and at least 20 bright-with-life-green butter lettuce seedlings have graced my presence for at least two days now.
Faced with a pressured and enormously busy month ahead, I'm aware of tight shoulders and anxiety bubbling away in the pit of my gut, despite the anxiety medication I've been taking as part of my regimen since my nervous breakdown in July last year. That's why I'm taking out precious time to centre myself, to ease the sense of drowning, the clutching at my throat.
I've turned to my morning pages to offload, to interrogate my life, and to pray for peace.
I've lit a stick of citronella incense: I'm watching the smokey tendrils weave between the seedlings and plants, backlit by the golden morning sunshine. All the while I can hear the ocean beckoning: soon I'll stroll over to it for a cleansing and invigorating swim.
I have a lot to do before leaving for Cape Town on 30 June; yes, I've got my job and will be beginning a new life at the southern tip of Africa from 1 July. I am ecstatic.
