Encounter

—Based on versions written in 2010 and 2014, translated into English in 2026—

On the morning of the Easter weekend, an unexpected crisis called me into the office. It was not complex, but demanded haste. Two hours passed, and it was done. Stepping outside, the autumn breeze was mild. Already in the city, the thought of Table Mountain came to mind — I had taken out an annual cableway pass the year before. Once the thought had taken hold, I headed for the mountain.

A long queue had formed at the station; it took half an hour before I could board. The cable car rose slowly, and the city gradually receded. It was Ascension Day, and thanks to the cableway, I too rose a thousand feet into the heavens.

Why come to Table Mountain? What for? The question had barely formed before the view had already opened before me — direct, needing no explanation, as if it said:

Not for any reason to come,
nor for any reason to go.

The mountain wind rose, and the horizon widened at once. Distant ranges stretched on; at the far end of the bay, a faint line appeared. Heaven and earth spread out before me, and my heart widened with them.

Among the rocks, you — this one wild flower — bloomed against the wind. The lens had to draw closer, for you remained out of reach, swaying in the valley wind, alone yet unshaken. There among the stones you bloomed, head held high, keeping company with the Twelve Apostles as they stretched south, all the way to the Cape of Good Hope.

Perhaps I came today only for this — to encounter your face in this one fleeting instant.

In the distance, someone walked the mountain path. They said he had come on foot from the Cape of Good Hope, two days already. Each of us has our own path; they cross, and part again, while the mountain remains.

The shadows lengthened. I returned to the station. The sun sank, and the city rose again into view.

Perhaps I came only to encounter your face;
perhaps I leave only to leave behind this sky of blue.

The mountain has receded, but your bearing has not left me.

Suddenly seen, suddenly seen —
Table Mountain flickers into view at the boardwalks end, among wildflowers.
They say you endure drought, unafraid of bitter cold,
and beneath your roots the sand holds water, cold and clear.

Strive, or not —
the rich soil beneath the forest shade is left to other flowers;
yours is the blue sky where drifting clouds form and vanish,
and light, falling through the clouds gaps like rain, dampens your face.

At peace, at peace —
waiting years for one blaze of brilliant fire,
a seed hidden in the hardness of the fruit,
that when touched by heat, rides the wind, and takes root again upon the peak.