Circles in the Sand

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.

A Storm in Sikasso

I move into consciousness, the cobwebs of sleep cling, 

desperately trying to drag me back into warm slumber. 

Leaves on the trees outside begin to rustle restlessly, 

a door deep inside the house slams closed, a branch taps lightly on the window announcing the inevitable arrival.

The stillness of the dark morning is broken by the surging wind,

The darkness of the still morning is shattered by a blaze of lightning.

The tension builds as the wind picks up, 

hot, silver flashes punctuate the darkness with regularity,

A thunderous roar reverberates through the very walls of the house, windows vibrating, curtains swaying. 

A distant rumble starts to build, 

At first it’s almost imagined, a plop against the pane, a splatter in the sand,

and then all too suddenly the distant rumble rolls in,

as the storm unleashes its soaking savagery. 

I walk onto the verandah, the cool air rushes to meet me,

the sky is ablaze, the atmosphere is electric, rain hammering down, thrashing all that it can reach. 

Trees straining, thunder deafening, wind gusting back and forth, reaching all that it can thrash. 

Slowly abating, a steadiness sets in, 

rain slowing down, wind dying off, a rhythm develops,

as if a truce between land and sky has been agreed.

Flashes of distancing lighting illuminate the turquoise dome of the minaret across the road, 

gently the sky starts to lighten as dawn begins to ease over the city.

A rooster hastens to welcome the lightening sky, as if caught unawares.

The gentle rhythm resonates all around, a soulful melody creating calm and peace.

The earth soaks up the rain, a peaceful calmness creating a melody for the soul. 

Dark Clouds Brewing as the wind blows in…

In the Beginning……

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth, each land mass formed in uniqueness to the other, Gondwanaland to the one side, and Laurasia to the other. As these masses began to separate, a continental array began unfold. Antarctica began to slip to the far reaches of the globe, finally standing guard over the cold, frozen point know as South. Asia and Europe vying for domination in the north remained joined, their struggle throwing up and enviable display of mountainous glory.
The Americas broke away, as two lovers break from the clutches of over possessive families. They drifted west and finally met just north of the equator, forever linked through the slenderest of grasps . The one dominating the northern sphere and the other, the south, never more than arms reach from each other.
Australasia, with her untempered spirit yearning for the unknown, was not to be limited by the frigid southern pole and moved north to claim her own dominion.

Through all this upheaval and flux, the Jewel of Gods creation remained central and stoic. Metamorphosising and maturing, it’s borders being etched and cast in volcanic heat and explosive violence. And yet the final design being so exquisitely and finely crafted such that a goldsmith would struggle to recreate. She stands strong, constant and true a brazen tribute to her Master and Designer.
Spanning across the equatorial boundary her influence and allure sweeps through both hemispheres. Her core, rooted in the heated depths of the earth, drives her heart beat. The beat which can’t be altered nor extinguished, ignored or discarded.

Africa, remained.