Botswana

Botswana

The drift of woodsmoke

Its tendrils curling through the air

The kettles set to boil above the licking flames

As we sit around the campfire

Staring into embers

Listening to the grumble of distant thunder

The intermittent flash of lightning

Across the far horizon

Through the darkening clouds

Threatening the coming of the long-awaited rains

We gaze across the scrubland, the wasted desert

And the arid desiccation of the salt pans

The calm of the delta shattered

By cicadas screeching in the cooling air

And the booming of lions calling in the night

Then we remember sipping rooibos by the river

The journey of giraffes, the dazzle of zebras

And the disputatious baboons, chattering and screaming

The subsonic rumble of elephants

In the land of trunk and tusk and trumpeting

The circling of vultures, aerial indicators

Then the smell of the kill

Ripped and torn and freshly flayed

Guts and blood, white and red

Spilled upon the dusty ground

And under the early starlit sky

The bleached bones of earlier victims

Long finger-shadows cast

By the burning disc of a sinking sun

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017