Yesterday, we went to Cape Point and the Cape of Good Hope, the latter being the southernmost tip of the African continent. It was part of our bus tour of the peninsula and the beautiful, beautiful, beautiful coastline that lies just 20 km away (that’s about 15 miles for those of you still on the English measuring system). As before, it was simply breathtaking. I can’t explain it, but I was struck again by a few lines of poetry as I climbed Cape Point. So I’ll leave it here. Hopefully it can say more about it than I can in a few long paragraphs.
2000 meters up.
A rifle cracks.
It’s the most soothing of barrels as another wave dies.
The higher the trek, the greater the reward.
Here, all nations converge.
We are the nation. We are the world.
The higher the trek, the wider the gaps.
The closer the gaps.
Here, all heroes are with capes.
Here, the Cape.
Here, the end of the world, the beginning of what lies further.
Here, the center of the beginning.
A rifle cracks. Softer.
More at peace.
A breeze whispers, cheering your arrival.
Here, the journey is finished.
And I am home.
Yet are we.