back to reality

The problem with going away, to the middle of nowhere.
Where you call a log cabin home for a few days.
Where you wake up to the sun rising over the ocean.
Where you climb mountains and drive over rocky terrain, your only concern are goats in the road.
Where you drive through places called Bizana and Flagstaff and over rivers with names like Mbizana and Mbata and the likes…
Where riding a horse into town is just a hell of a lot easier than taking the car…

is that, well, you just never want to leave.

Your mind floods with ideas of living there forever, barefoot and wearing tie-dyed clothing. Sitting along the banks of the ocean, fishing – with a hot flask full of coffee in the morning. An ice-cold beer under the shade of an old tree.

I was quite sad to leave yesterday and wiped the tears out of my eyes as I hugged my mother goodbye and began the 5 hour drive back home to the chaos that is the city.

Someone remind me why we do this to ourselves?
Why we insist on calling this concrete jungle our home.
Why we would rather be in the noise and pollution.

I want a simpler life.

I want to watch butterflies fluttering about – I want to watch birds soar over mountain tops. I want to hear the mountains sing in the evenings as the crickets and bugs and other little nunu’s come out for the evening…

to do what ever it is that little crickets and bugs and other little nunu’s do in the evening. Or maybe that’s just it. They just sing.

and wouldn’t you if you lived there?







(i will upload some pics soon, i've got a few to share)