Arms outstretched reaching up to the stars,
the irregular, scabrous bark bearing witness to centuries of enlightenment.
Plurality of singular existence perched atop this bouldered knoll.
Passively, pensively, awaiting promised precipitation.
Darkness’ cloak drawn across the skies,
bar resplendent pinacles across that expanse,
nothing else can be perceived.
The darkest of moments between sun setting and moon rising.
A glow on the horizon, a sprinkle of silvery tinge, a partial disc breaches the horizon.
A flurry of shadows at the base, a scrape and a rustle, a sparkle ever so brief.
The wind hums a tune in the outstretched branches, a rhythmic tapping of two pods high up in the boughs.
The shadows flitter and flut, as the impenetrable cloak gives way to misty tendrils of moon light stretching out from the horizon.
Shadows moving in circular synchronicity before the grandiose Baobab.
A gentle flame lights the centre, merging the glimmer of the moon, becoming one.
Little flashes of limbs, sharp facial features, they dance in the shimmering light.