There’s a particular kind of silence that lives in the mountains. Not the absence of sound — but the presence of something deeper. When I drive back up to the Drakensberg, past the gates, past the memories, I can feel it immediately. The air is different there. Thinner, cleaner, full of something I can’t quite name.

Music has always been my way of processing the world. Not escaping it — but understanding it. Every song I write is really just a conversation with myself, trying to make sense of moments that are too big for ordinary words.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to come home. Not to a place, necessarily, but to a feeling. That feeling when a melody clicks into place, when the last note of a song fades and you know you’ve said exactly what you needed to say.

That’s what music is for me. Coming home.