The tiniest sliver of an orange moon has just slid into the millpond sea at the end of a perfect and windless day in Kommetjie. It started with an early morning walk with the dogs down to the lighthouse and along the boardwalk. We weren't the only early birds - photographers were down on the rocks capturing the first sunlight on the waves, with the lighthouse still in the shadow of the mountain, and further along, a wetsuit-clad man (didn't have a surfboard, so perhaps he was going to do a little illicit diving) was contemplating the rise and fall of the swells at Outer Kom, peaking in neat rows about thirty feet across, while the rest of the sea was a pond.
Autumn brings with it a fine mist that hangs over the water in the early morning, masking the shoreline and leaving the mountains of the Peninsula looming in silhouette before the dawn. No clouds marred the cerulean sky and even the birds seemed to be having a late start. We didn't see a single oystercatcher; just a handful of gulls pecking among the seaweed.
And now, as the moon disappears, the vast band of the Milky Way soars across the zenith, providing starlight to see by for those wandering a lonely country road far from the city lights. We who prefer the comforts of modern living pay the price of not being able to appreciate the beauty of the night sky to its fullest extent.
I think a road trip beckons.
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