Ode to the Bushveld

There,

Where setting sun

Paints trees and grass in gold and green;

There,

Where skies are high and big

And dapple the rolling hills with purple shadow;

Where elephant walks tall on cushioned feet

And kudu stand proud –

Curling horns reaching for the sky;

Where black-faced vervets

Dance in the trees,

And baboons bark and impala skip;

There,

Where owl glides,

Silent in the moonlight,

Or sits on skeletal tree,

Surveying all in mysterious monochrome;

Where rocks are rhinos

And giraffe hide, tall and gangly,

Behind feathery-leafed trees;

Where wind whips up waves

On the grass-covered plains,

And warthog strut and grovel and turn and run –

Antennae-tails high;

Where lion cough and roar

And leopard slinks, graceful,

unseen;

Where cheetah glides into whirlwind chase

And lands on kudu’s back –

Or stirs up dust-storms of wildebeest –

Then chirrups to her cubs

Who chirp back,

Sounding,

for all the world,

like tiny birds;

There,

Where the air is bright

And the bushveld gives off scents

Of herbs and musth…

There, the heart soars free

With eagles and darting-blue kingfisher;

There, heart and soul

Truly find peace.

© Isabel Bradley, 2017