The Cape on the verge of spring, dark bare branches of the apple trees flushed with bud, dams full but a dusty black in the air. Cold and with strong winds. The flight from London came bucketing in over the green seas around Robben Island into mists and a fierce headwind.
And my trusty laptop is giving up the ghost so I may be offline for a while, struggling to get Internet access and the memory hiccuping and sputtering.
Sober and grateful all the same for a safe return and the habit of travelling sober, resuming my life here, greeting friends and neighbours. This morning I am going to a country mrket in Greyton, about an hour’s travel through the mountains.
Have caught up on sleep — a very deep tiredness. Now to acclimatize to the dazzling light and bitter cold of a delayed spring.