The sun is slow to wake this morning, creeping up behind the clouds like a lazy cat. It seems almost as reluctant as I am to start this day that will inevitably, as it draws to a close, end the incredible chapter of my life that Masebe has been.
I look out at the same view I’ve had for the past two weeks, all too aware of each fleeting second. The same immovable mass of sandstone, that same mountain, stands stoically in the distance—a huge black chunk cut from the lightening sky. I thaw my hands on my coffee mug, listening to the birds chirping in the distance and thinking back on the past two weeks.
The memories of every drive, every moment of goofing off, of playing cards, of being idiots and being friends, flood in. The intensity of the moment, the bittersweet nostalgia, is overwhelming, but thankfully, the sadness of the moment doesn’t last: before long, Masebe’s comic relief flies overhead, shouting that he’s scared of heights.