Last Sunday I drove into the country side to visit a beloved. As I followed the winding road snaking though Dutoitskloof, the huge mountains swallowed me up. Luminous shades of greens, greys and browns swooped down from the mountainside washing my eyes with colour. The stark ragged outline of the escarpment cut deeply into the infinite stillness. And the azure sky looked on proudly from up high as though she was the creator of this exquisite scene. Lost in this surreal artwork I travelled the tarred road carved out by the heavy hearts and callused hands of men. I felt my heart swell with wonder, awestruck once again by the master sculptor who had created this range of beautiful giants. There is something about the majesty and magnificence of mountains that grabs one at the core. I felt both small and vulnerable and yet… another part of me blossomed boldly like the pink-faced proteas and danced with unrestraint like the silky silver-leaf trees in the breeze and I sensed a one-ness with all around me. Peacefulness buzzed gently inside me and a sense of belonging affirmed that I am in this mountain… and this world… just as it is in me. So just for today, I am grateful for eyes that see and ears that hear the muezzin call of the beloved, which draws us in again and again to experience the exquisite happiness of heart that comes with being held in the hearth of the mountain. Last but not least, I am thankful to all the nameless workers who built innumerable roads, through hills and valleys to gift us sacred passageway to our natural state of being. My gratitudes are many.