How Sad a Passage

COUNTESS "This young gentlewoman had a father,--O, that 'had'! how sad a passage 'tis!--whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work." -Act I scene i, All's Well that Ends Well.

Wednesday, July 29, 2020

Ye Olde Sly Boots

Mizingani in the early afternoon.  Blue skies and wisps of eclectic music wafting into the pool’s enclosed courtyard from the cultural centre next door.  Almost a week on thus far, settling into the Stone Town life wonderfully like a happy couple (“like? But we are!”) and in a stroke all the loneliness of waiting and wondering over.  The past months of isolation and quarantine seem a distant memory amidst this return to the favoured normality of travel, the old familiar sensations of bargaining and smiles and astonishment at the number of lives being lived, the struggle and effort and boredom and contentment.  

A week on, 25+ hours billed and no suspicion yet except the jab about the Friday prayers as you helped redraft some recitals for biomass supply.  El Presidente’s line from the Tuesday Club podcast just now a fitting title.  Would be nice to keep track of the number of attendees on conference calls who would not dream of guessing your whereabouts.  The boys eager to hear of developments, and the focus lingering on what may yet be to come.  The Hitchens memoir stoking some reminiscing, the different guests poolside day-by-day lingering also in the mind as you await your massages, and thoughts turning again to the Cup Final at the weekend.  An altogether blissful environment, and so hard to shake the feeling that thus far you have played the nomadic rendezvous game to perfection.

Careless whisper a preferred practice for the wayward saxophonists even here. What is to be done?  Still weeks at the beachfront in the north ahead.  Tomorrow the day for the return to the Gem Centre in another milestone, such an unimaginable possibility when measured against prior Black Tot celebrations on the Atlantic.  Friday on the Indian and the sandbank, as the return sparks only thoughts of how mUgh you missed the first time around... spice and tortoises and balcony sunsets.  The magnet was correct.  

Divine and well envelop’d.  Yet how will the story unfold and end?  Stay attuned to discover.  (And c’mon you Arsenal!)

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