Once a year in spring the dry, harsh and forbidding land
Dons a cloak of many colours, takes on the mantle of the sun,
Her harsh desert laughs in the rain, her dry rivers briefly run
And swathes of gold, red and orange daisies bedeck Namaqualand
Flowers of all colours burst into bloom; cornflower blue reflects the indigo sky
Red poppies dip and dance, white petals sway in the gentle breeze
Yellow flowers bright as sunshine blossom on the Kameeldoring trees
Overhead suddenly cascades of brightly coloured birds fly
The constant call of the cicada drifts on the hazy, heat-filled day
In the whispering rivers dragonflies and frogs are at play.
The rattle of a bright scarlet locust assaults the ear
It may yet be the portent of the swarm the farmers fear.
Tread carefully – the slow and lazy puffadder lies in wait
While the happy hordes of small creatures scurry to and fro
The swift moving cobra slides regally over the damp earth
Silently, relentlessly he tracks down those that are too slow
And greedily he consumes his tasty meal, the master of their fate.
Meerkats stand in clumps of question marks watching the colourful parade
And, for a few short weeks, the veld is a riot of colour and joyful movement
Affording succour to all and a brief respite from the desert’s cruel environment
But soon the barren landscape returns, the flowers die, memories of the magic fade,
Only the relentless road remains, cresting the hills, going nowhere, slowly.
Dons a cloak of many colours, takes on the mantle of the sun,
Her harsh desert laughs in the rain, her dry rivers briefly run
And swathes of gold, red and orange daisies bedeck Namaqualand
Flowers of all colours burst into bloom; cornflower blue reflects the indigo sky
Red poppies dip and dance, white petals sway in the gentle breeze
Yellow flowers bright as sunshine blossom on the Kameeldoring trees
Overhead suddenly cascades of brightly coloured birds fly
The constant call of the cicada drifts on the hazy, heat-filled day
In the whispering rivers dragonflies and frogs are at play.
The rattle of a bright scarlet locust assaults the ear
It may yet be the portent of the swarm the farmers fear.
Tread carefully – the slow and lazy puffadder lies in wait
While the happy hordes of small creatures scurry to and fro
The swift moving cobra slides regally over the damp earth
Silently, relentlessly he tracks down those that are too slow
And greedily he consumes his tasty meal, the master of their fate.
Meerkats stand in clumps of question marks watching the colourful parade
And, for a few short weeks, the veld is a riot of colour and joyful movement
Affording succour to all and a brief respite from the desert’s cruel environment
But soon the barren landscape returns, the flowers die, memories of the magic fade,
Only the relentless road remains, cresting the hills, going nowhere, slowly.
this is dedicated to my mother who instilled in me a love of the land and the beauty of nature's rich diversity. She opened my mind to the hidden beauty in the harsh, the forbidding and the cruelty of life's eternal landscape.
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