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Right here, Right now.

The wind whistles & howls, shaking up Cape Town ; waking her weary chidren.

Dazed I wake up for a second time, opening heavy lids to find that Monday had dawned softly. Ribbons of red are slowly beginning to caress the darkness as I stretch out lazy like a cat, lying in the middle of the kingsize bed, my thick winter frame engulfed by fleecy bedding the colour of candy floss.
"Sweet!" I utter out loud to an already empty house as soft light filters in through aluminium blinds making stripes like tattoos on my pale skin.
I should get up, but I am perplexed by the day which stretches ahead of me demanding nothing!
I'm at odds, not used to so much time on my hands, "busy" being my usual setting.

I'm beginning to like this new reality.
The ticking clock by my bedside sets a steady rhythm, as all around me the world is on the go, moving in circles. It's as if the world's forgotten about this one, tiny space. In my cocoon I groggily sit up, twisting my plaits and piling them on top of my head. Spying myself in the PC screen, I giggle at the ridiculousness of it.
Pleasure in the mundane!
It takes very little to get me smiling these days. I settle into my spot, wiggle my bottom to find the right groove. I feel-feel with my right hand for his spot; it's still warm. I scooch over, snuggling deep into it, breath in deeply, and sigh with pleasure.
I like this new me.
No distractions!
No endless chatter!
No comments!
No daydreams.
No work!
This self-imposed exile is experimental, and proving to be rather pleasing.

It's not easy disengaging from the grid. The world asks so much of us:
Be responsible - Be hard working - Be dissatisfied with our lives - Be materialistic.
Be ever-questioning of our worth - Want more - Want better - Want different.
Search for love - Hunger for success -  Never feel good enough for either...
Yada yada yada...

I'm like Neo in the Matrix, rather disorientated and slightly off-balance. Having swallowed the red pill, there's no turning back. Denial, fantasy, oblivion, ignorance: none of these are an option.

I fidget, getting antsy. I need something to quieten my mind.
The adhan sounds.
 As if on automatic,  I catapult out of bed and head for the bathroom.
The soothing arabic verses are poetic and beautiful, drowning out the noises of the world. I return to my room cloaked in black, more aware and centred than before. I close my eyes, foreign words on pious lips, foreign words reverberating in my mind as if I have forgotten every English word I have ever known. I bow down, the minaret on my blue prayer mat directing me towards qibla, and the connection is made. My bond with the Creator is personal, my prayers fervent, and a calming peace envelopes me.
The surahs roll off my tongue and my movements are lithe and freeing. Body, mind and soul in unison, at one with the source of it all.
With my hands in prayer, I sit with my head bowed down in thanks.
So many roads taken, so many turns.
So grateful it led me right here, right now.

I glance up, peaking at the world with renewed eyes.
I see the wind moving through the trees. I watch the birds flying in perfect formation, I hear the waves crashing on the shore, and feel the first, weak rays of the sun on my skin, and I know my place in this world is God-given.

And in the silence that ensues in that quiet period round dawn, the ticking of the bedside clock becomes almost hypnotic, like the rhythm of my heart filled to the brim with love and awe.

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Furrows deep and pronounced line my brow. I contemplate them,  willing them away, stroking them gently, each stroke meant to iron them out. I am their canvas, they are my storylines.

I seize my ironing, and listen to their tales.
I feel the cold to my bones!

Not the usual Cape Town cold I grew up with in the Southern Suburbs, but an iciness matching any day spent in Tewkesbury more than a decade ago in the UK.  The kind of cold that requires down feather jackets and knee-high fake fur boots.  The kind of cold that leaves sleet on windshields, and soup pots full.
Central heating!Pah! Our homes in Cape Town are ill-equipped for this kinda torture!
I hug my hot water bottle to me like a long lost lover, it's squishy, and pot-bellied and jiggles when I squeeze it. Raising the white mug to my lips, I slurp the almost scalding coffee quickly. My fifth cuppa and it's only 10:42am. Two bars glow bright orange at me. Mikey hogs the heater, and Georgie sits on top of the TV cabinet like a …

Monday, Funday.

Monday dawns with a quiet ease.
I wake up to the sight of the moon, firm and round.
I appreciate it in silence, not ready for him to know I'm awake.
Making the pleasure all the more enjoyable.

It seems the 1st week of Spring has cast a spell on me.

He wanders out of view and I hear bathroom noises.
It's time for me to make a move.
I stretch, lazy like a cat, wanting to remain here (in this spot) still warm from sleeping bodies.
I am entangled in an endless battle with linen.
I fling the offending cotton off heated, sticky skin; hot flashes spreading like veldfire.

The spray of the shower seizes.
Grinning I burrow back in under the covers pretending to sleep.
Gonna stay here and wait for the moon to reappear, wait for my first coffee, and enjoy the intimacy of the early morning when Blouberg is still asleep, and it is just us.

The world is calling: news from exotic places: desert drives, old towns, local foods & picnics with newfound ad…