It's been a chilly and moody day, in Newlands at least; that doesn't mean it wasn't a perfect beach day on the Atlantic seaboard.
I'm in bed reading. An empty wine glass - except for red dregs on its inside - on my bedside table; a blue-patterned dinner plate that until recently contained scrumptious muscles on provita biscuits is at its side.
I've chosen a quite day and night; it's peace and silence is what I've sought after a week that brimmed over.
Now as I listen to the robust wind in the trees as I reach over to turn out the light, as I turn in.