It is better to travel hopefully than to arrive, they say. But I'm still looking for the bloody station.
The perfect signoff to the perfect Easter Saturday. A walk to the top of the mountain behind my home, where the view is a sweeping vista of the whole of False Bay and its peninsula. The wind was autumn cold and we didn't spend too long admiring the huge expanse of the Indian Ocean. Then, on the way down, this sight of the Atlantic side stopped us in our tracks again. 
posted by DavetheF at 5:57 pm
Primarily a poet, published here and there. Two books (The Charlie Manson False Bay Talking Rock Blues and other Poems, Bateleur Press, A Book of Lives, Protea 2007). A very bored journalist trying to escape into screenwriting. Fond of ranting and romance, science fiction and fact, hazy grasp of contemporary realities. Strong interest in talented daughter and scary but wonderful grandchildren.
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