Whale Tale. Naturally brewed. In Kaapstad, naturally.
Yesterday I woke to a wonderfully winter Sunday that gushed and frothed with unexpected and sharp gusts of wind. These rattled the skeletal trees around the suburb (Newlands is often referred to as Mordor, not least because of the stormy-turbulent darkness maelstrom that invisibles the terrifying peaks above us) and lead panes; so I remained in bed reading, also dozing off, the entire day.
Eventually, at 7pm, I forced myself up and into the shower and then my scarf.
Then to Cocoa Wah Wah in Rondebosch, which in good weather would be a pleasant but long walk away.
That's how I got to wash down this "light ale that boasts a soft caramel maltiness, complimented with a typically crisp Hallertauer hop finish".
I used to live, unconsciously, in broad sweeps of my artist's brush; now it's the immaculately-fine brush-details of life intensely lived that brings me enormous joy, satisfaction.
Yet it feels as though I've lost my edge. Perhaps it's the price I'm paying for my prayer, daily, for peace. Perhaps, I'm still unsure, I've had to exchange my extremely sharp-edged sword for peace. Not yet quite sure if I'm at peace about my barter deal.
Perhaps the question I need to ask myself is whether I've compromised my soul, or whether I've sold it down the river.
I'm reading, just started, The Water is Wide by Pat Conroy. I'm relatively new to him via South of Broad. Speaking of rivers that is... .