Dancing on the low road

Woodstock Cave

On a misty, silver Sunday morning on the mountain, we had two choices. Climb to the top of Devils Peak (that was the plan) or amble around the corner, stopping under waterfalls and stroking the scented leaves of pelargoniums. Somehow Plan 1 melted away under the weight of leaden legs and cold-riddled heads and we chose the low road. And what a good choice it was.

The wet bark of the cork oak forest gleamed black on the low slopes of Devils Peak. On hot summer days the forest is a cool pool of shade, but on this wintry morning the trees looked more like ghosts reaching out with sinewy black arms.

Above us a rock kestrel hung still in the sky. Then it fluttered like a butterfly before diving down to the ground.

The air was sweet and the sound of water tumbling over sandstone rocks made the mountain sing. We had tea on a bench with its back to the bay so you could face the mountain. My kind of view.

Yes, taking the high road is a good life choice, but sometimes it's good to just dance on the low road.