The sun burns my skin as the breeze cools it
Dust rushes to the back of my throat and I close my eyes
I breathe in the smells, the sounds and the feel of Africa
My son rolls on the lawn with the Ridgeback
And points to a Kingfisher sitting on the electric wire
A swallow sweeps over the veranda diving up into her nest in the thatching
It is a long, lazy, African day on the farm
I hear guinea fowl in the distance and the Ridgeback runs off to chase them
My ginger cat scavengers some sadza from the dogs bowl
The strawberries glisten from the garden spray
I pop one in my mouth – warm from the sun
Damp from the spray – fresh from the plant
Big black African clouds gather on the horizon and
The hot earth begs for a cooling……..I close my eyes…….
…………It is cold and I’m in a rush – I cannot find my keys
The kids on traffic control are wearing bright orange raincoats
A boy drops his ball on the pavement and his Mother reprimands him
Frost sits upon the grass and the sky is dull
We rush into a heated classroom already frosting it’s windows
The children laugh at something said I am greeted with
“How are ya?”
I reply in kiwi talk “Good”
I walk back out into the cold, past the cherry blossoms fighting the wind
The tulips a cacophony of color – the mountains disguised by the mist
Suburbia chatters in voices of traffic, skateboards and dogs..
I stop a moment – gasp in cool crisp air and close my eyes…….
……………A hornbil sits on the telephone wire and a Kudu barks in the distance
A pikanin stands – dusty and barefoot clapping his hands together as I hand him a penny cool
The tractor pulling a trailer of singing women disappears in the dust leaving wisps of voice and beat
The sun beats down and bleaches the red earth
As rain – like an invisible wall approaches through the maize
I can hear it before I see it
Heavy drops begin to fall and a clean, dusty, choking smell hits my nostrils
The fields rejoice………………..
Like a sound that wakes you; confused and startled in the night
Like the sense you get when you are being watched
Like the image of a bright light that remains imprinted as you blink
Like an echo that rings in your ears long after the sound is gone
We are there
On the grass a boy rolls….into the yard a truck pulls
The sun warms my skin and the breeze brings dust
Dust to the back of my throat
In the long lazy hours
For the rest of our days
We are there
We are there
We are there Boo 2005
Gail Bartlett-Harris Registered Counsellor 