Dawn’s palest light…

CHRIS BENNETT celebrates THE LONGEST NIGHT OF THE YEAR.

ONCE more the longest night of the year is behind us. On Tuesday morning, June 22^nd, I rose as the sun emerged reluctantly through the twisted foliage of the milkwood trees and cast its pale lemony rays in pretty moving patterns on my bedroom wall. The sky was the sort of blue that I imagine one would see in the Aegean, and the air was crisp and sharp.

There is often a quality to our weather here on the lower South Coast that is perhaps as much to do with the noble sound of the sea as it is with the pale morning sunlight.

Even on still mornings, the breakers hurl themselves to smithereens on the rocks below my cottage, roaring and sighing, soughing and swishing around the pools and crevices. The sounds of the sea are as huge as the whales performing their tomfoolery not far offshore.

Such was this Tuesday morning, and I was delighted, for to me the 22^nd of June marks the return of the sun on its journey back to our canefields and banana groves. Its warmth beckons and grows almost by the day.

Along the ridges and smoke-laced valleys of Nzimakwe, the winter timelessness still holds its charm: nothing changes, and nothing will. Why should it?

If you are visiting our part of the world make a point of going down to the beach as the sun comes up. Go with friends so that the beauty is all the more enjoyed and the experience shared. Marina Beach, Trafalgar, Palm Beach and so on south are ideal places to see the day begin, but not alone.

It is unforgettable experiences of this kind that make our part of the world so extraordinary for those who will open their eyes to see it. For those who can’t I feel sad; for those who won’t, then I am sure Boksburg beckons.

Two visiting young British students called in (with father, of course) to the local pub, the High Rock, this week. Fiona Glazebrook is doing her last year in sociology and her friend Sarah Statham graduated in cinematography this year, a degree that could prove of some use in this digital and image-obsessed world.

Refreshingly they are not here just for the football; they are here to see the sea. They are at university in Leeds, in north central England, and as I write they are exploring the coast, the Wild Coast; visiting Port St John’s and Coffee Bay. Memories, I suspect, are in the making. A cinematographer’s eye would rejoice in such spectacular sights.

If we are lucky we shall see many more visitors in this part of the world before the football fever is quite over. Those already here for the matches would do well, should their intellects be keen enough, to look around at this glorious country. The cost maybe high, but true economy is attained by judging an article (or an experience) on its merits, not on its cost. This, like football, takes considerable knowledge and quite a few well-honed skills.