Flaneur; my back to the wall

It's with my back to the wall that I can watch the world. While remaining as unnoticeable as possible. To blend in. I'm not one for attracting attention. But I'm rather tall. That's why the wall.

It is the most perfect day to have chosen to leave the house.

Driving up the road instead of down, even though it's slightly longer and uphill, I choose it for the momentary glimpse of the Ocean. Looking down while swinging right my breath is taken away in wonder. Every time. I live here!

It's the same reason that I take the M4 to Umhlanga, then Durban, instead of the much speedier freeway that cuts through happy-making swathes of sugarcane. The slower drive with windows wide open and endless glimpses of the mighty Indian. Whether reduced rain sky vision, or universe-wide cobalt skies that suck my very eyeballs out of their sockets and to the end-and-over-the-very-edge of my earth.

I love this subtropical city of sunshine, shorts and slip-slops no matter the time of year.

Gateway is Saturday packed, and airconditioning cool. Just below the ridge Umhlanga 'village' simmers on the Ocean edge; it's all that's between me and the containered ships awaiting entry to Durban harbour before heading back up Africa's eastern coast to Europe through Suez or striking out towards India, China and Japan.

With my back against the wall sipping coffee and typing notes, I can see as far as I want.  My only limitation is me. Me.

in the Ocean's orchestra pit; i am

Salt Rock: Sitting on my favorite outcrop in a maelstrom of wind, sound, sun and salt spray;
Gulping-in-deep the tang-salt of the-Ocean; this is most definitely not a sea;
December's summer sun on my skin; i'm in nothing but baggies;
After a deep, wonderful night's sleep - a gift to me - i plunged, barefoot, from bed - to - street - to - beach straight after waking:
i am the hot tar beneath my soul;
i am the clay-mud on the soggy path down to the sea squishing my toes and squirming my nails;
i am the crab that scuttled the rock pool, also the one suicide bombing from a rock when i surprised it and it me;
i am the salt invisible on the air;
i am the tang woven between my nostril hairs;
i am me. I am you. I am the divine. I am the Ocean, the Sky and the Clouds;
i am the rock beneath my bum and feet;
i am solid and rock and eternal being;
i am joy, love, compassion and peace;
i am in love, I am love;
i am the passion of the universe.

i am.
i am just me at the bottom of an ocean of air.

Ocean

Today was perfect. I breathed in deeply the tangy salt-freshness of the ocean, while wearing the absolute minimum clothing possible. I dreamed of the impossible. I had my outta-bed-hair frizzed and whirred by the bluster that was driving the waves. I had the skin on my feet scoured by sea sand and tanned by the sun; now they are looking so healthy and smooth it's as if I'd lived on this beach as a bum for months. Then, when I was tired, I walked barefoot up to the house gulping in fresh air beautifully tinged with the giddying scent of frangipani blossom.