Living with Lockdown - 7

The Cape Doctor blew across our locked-down land today, sending sheets of spray scudding across the sea and horses' manes peeling off the crests of the swells pushing into the bay. Through the tangled trunks of the ancient milkwoods that line the path between me and the bay, I can see the sun sparkling and dancing on the water, and hear the seabirds calling as they roam the rocks unhindered by chasing dogs.
It seems surreal that we cannot simply cross the road and meander along the footpath that leads to the wide open spaces right in front of us, but to do so would be to laugh in the face of those who are enduring this time under unimaginably difficult circumstances and it is almost an obligation to stand together in our restricted freedom. There must be surfers in a cold sweat at the thought of not paddling out to the Outer Kom for a few more weeks.
Ships sail by, their crews or passengers perhaps wondering whether they will be allowed to disembark at the next port and find their way home, or whether the high seas will be home for a while more.
The baboons sat at the top of the cliffs, looking down to see who might have left doors open, and the leader of the troop barked out his call for them to gather and set off down the mountain to forage. To see them leaping across the cliff face at speed, agile and surefooted, was to be reminded again of their silent and swift presence that catches us unawares. At sunset, they will again be basking on the cliffs at their chosen sleeping place overlooking the lighthouse on one side and the white beaches and tumbled boulders of the coastline leading down to Cape Point on the other. They will contemplate the world as the sun sinks into the sea at the end of another day in this beautiful part of the Cape, and we will be confined as animals are in zoos. There must be a lesson in all of this.