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Every morning we would take the wooden steps to our breakfast buffet. Down, down and down. We didn't have a lot of money at the time so we would stuff ourselves at 10 am with all-inclusive breakfast and skip lunch, which carried us through to dinner.

Afterwards, we'd walk all the way back to our honeymoon suite. Up, up and up again. Without exception, we'd enter our beach villa with a rush of freezing cold air hitting our skin. While we were overindulging in food, someone had made the place spotless and set the aircon to 16 degrees.

The chilling air brought us back to our senses.

During the six days we stayed at the resort, we'd take these wooden steps dozens of times and often bump into the staff who looked after us, as if we were their own family. They served us and expected nothing in return.

While Lindl was taking a nap or chilling inside, I would sit on the wooden deck for hours. I read The Shape of Design and played The Silent Age on my phone. 'Til today, I can't justify playing video games. Being busy proves to be as addictive.

Some days we would be agendaless, just sleeping until the sun woke us up.

Until the last day arrived.

We left our room and took our last ritual walk down the wooden steps to the lobby. The receptionist, whose name I wish I could remember, studied the checkout book for a bit and said something like, "Uh, sir, your checkout is only tomorrow." We had one last day.

Our previous house had a sunny spot that often took me back to those moments in Mozambique.

While the kids were at school and Lindl was at work, I followed a quiet routine to make coffee at around 10:15 am. Our kitchen door was perfectly positioned to let a sliver of sun fall on the floor. While waiting for the Bialetti to start sputtering, I'd stand with my bare feet on that one sunny spot.

Ah, there it is. It felt so good.

Over the years, life became more challenging. During the last few months before our previous company closed down, things got quite tense. Instead of choosing the sliver of sunbathed floor, I'd go sit outside instead.

I remember the uneven surface of the sandstone wall I sat on, water falling from a waterfall I built, birds bathing and the grass underneath my feet. It would lift me up and carry me until the last day before we closed down the company.

A few months later, we bought a piece of land in Wilderness. With no access road yet, we needed to climb the rock face every time we wanted to visit it. I've stopped counting how many times I've grabbed the fynbos branch to pull myself up. When Stilkrans is done, we'll have wooden stairs here.

It will bring us back to our senses.