A Magical Age

These are the nights you’ll never forget. The nights you’ll remember when your skin has turned to leather and you sit by the same window in the same chair in the same routine every day, which isn’t a bad thing. That’s life. It sounds like a negative description in comparison to the nights you’ll never forget. But there’s a quote that goes:

Every age is magical provided you live within it.

And it’s true. Even for the age of leather skin and dried prune hands.

Anyway, back to the nights you’ll never forget.

This evening I stood in (what I assumed was) a beautiful garden (it was bright). Right in front of me, very clearly defined, was the beautiful Hout Bay mountain range. We watched the moon as it rose over the top of the mountains. The air is cold and fresh — winter is almost here. We are all so young and so ambitious. The Castle Lite and Gin and Tonics are like sweet nectar. The fire crinkles and sparks and we all laugh.

The nights we will never forget. This magical age. This particular magical age.