A fly settles on my cheek, stuck in the sweat of a too-hot morning.
I wave it away. Another lands. I don’t want to be distracted.
A rusty gate prevents my advance but cannot block this view of grandeur: the distant mountain range hazy after the fire. Standing rugged and majestic— immobile on the horizon.
A raptor waits, patiently, precarious atop an acacia. An agama bobs on a hot rock in the path. The sun beats mercilessly. Flies continue to harass my body.
Standing here, I am humbled. In awe. Engaged in pure solitude— for one short, hot, sweaty, dusty moment between flies—
Since living in the Karoo, I have experienced a few tropical storms – violent downpours that often follow a few days of oppressive heat.
I say a few times, as, where I live is in an arid part of the country and hopefully, is just emerging from 6 or more years of drought. Last year, 2021 was a good rainfall year I recorded 190.5mm for the year. With 95 mm of that being in three storms!
It always starts with heat, still, heavy, oppressive air and usually arrives in the late afternoon or evening. Living in the shadow of the Swartberg mountains, it is often hard to know where it may come from, but often it is from the north, and we see dark brooding clouds on the horizon or bright white huge cumul1 us nimbus growing on a bright blue sky. It starts with a hint of a breeze; the wind chimes tune in and the drying pink bougainvillea flowers fall and rustle on the dry ground. The wind intensifies and the dust swirls. There can be deafening thunder and frightening lighting accompanying the show. Windows rattle, the wind whistles under the doors and through the trees as the first huge drops land loudly on the corrugated tin roof and plop muffled into the sand that is my garden, petrichor fills my senses. The soil absorbs the water faster than the rain falls early in the storm, but soon, due to the drought and lack of ground cover the runoff is exaggerated and it is not long before rivulets of water become torrents, flooding every low-lying route and in this town, flooding the streets. It disappears usually as quickly as it arrives, and all the surface water is gone in a flash. Most homes have rainwater tanks or reservoirs, which, in these storms fill quickly and Karoo farmers are very clever with water conservation and many small pans and dams have been built to harvest this preciosity commodity. Unfortunately, flash flooding is more destructive than it is valuable. But some water is better than none. Life goes on.
Haiku – Thunder rumbles loud Through barren, empty land it roars Dramatic storm brews
A Poem – Oppressive heat. Dark storm clouds build on the horizon, life giving rain starts. Barren earth awakens, petrichor fills the senses, as large drops fall, so precious. Dry earth drinks its fill, quenched. New life begins
Chapter Six 
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