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And so we traveled very, very high,
Our destination seemingly to reach 
The gathering mist and 
Dreary grey sky.
The path rather track that we took,
Could have been misunderstood,
For a stairway to heaven. 

Are you going right to the top,
Are you mad to go,
Asked a kind old man with a mop
Of pure white hair, walking his dog.
He seemed to think so.
At every curve we went higher,
I feared we could not travel further,
As the track became even curvier,
Our altitude terrifying,
But still we kept climbing.
I did not utter a sound,
Just accepted that we might die,
And might shortly be heaven bound.
No alternative to be found,
We had to face this rocky terrain.
The mist arrived, low and blanket like,
It was recommended that this
Area was good for a hike,
Or mountain biking,
Perhaps even cycling,
And what about the mist,
Pray tell, I Insist.

We finally reached our rustic
Holiday accommodation,
And destination,
Off the grid,
With feelings of trepidation,
Not a property 
For which I would bid.
What a magnificent sight to behold,
We avoided little mounds of sand,
When walking on a gravel path,
Towards our wood cabin,
Cows munched grass outside our door,
A worker, hired as a farm hand,
Covered cow dung with this sand,
Thank God for small mercies,
Hallelujah, hubby said.

The Natal midlands, we will 
Visit again, but will stay
on lower Terra Firma
So that we may
Live. to see another day.

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