fire and rain

Wind and fire and yet no rain ... the best part of my life I've been around farmers whose eyes search for rain unconsciously, even when they're occupied elsewhere and even in their sleep, their inner man hunts the sky and listens for changes in the wind.

We've had weeks of demon wind howling through towering dust devils and firestorms laid by arson. Everywhere is loss and blood chilling horror that fire wreaks on animal and plant life in the platteland, and that we forget so blithely when hiding in cities.

This could be hell.

Of a morning I find myself on my stoep with tea, eyes doing that farmer's skysearch, all senses prickling. Come, rain.