It was as if the chosen people had left and the earth had formed part of hell. The sun, perched high up in the sky, was beyond relentless. The roads flowed down the mountain side, shimmering and shining, and fell over the hill into an estuary called, Town.
The wind howled in the distance, calling its brethren from the four corners of the world to join it as it feasted on the emptiness of the valley. The trees rolled from side to side, bending with the remover but were not removed. Enjoying their own company, the tumbleweed cruised rapidly across the streets, stopping to knock on bolted doors.
The water itself had joined the environmental revolt and was in exile, nowhere to be seen; dark clouds stained the sky. The river slithered across the landscape. Its scaly skin yet to be shed with the arrival of the rains.
From my window, I pondered the likelihood of becoming food for the gnats and I marveled at their ability to brave this heat.
Darting across the scales of the river were the growing shadows of storm clouds. Each carrying its own army of water drops, ready to pelt old life to death and bring about new life. Carried by the wind, these dark, sinister wings glided effortlessly over everything.
The lightning flashed and the thunder clapped: the marching band of the environmental army.
The wind grew stronger but the trees did not. The sun was hidden but its fury was not. The army was attacking.
The soil sizzled and drowned. The gnats were plucked from the sky one by one. The trees bent, rolled over and were uprooted.
Through my window, in the safety of my house, amidst the watery massacre, I smelt new life and creation. I also smelt imprisonment: there was no possibility of taking a walk that day.
© Banele Kubheka
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Grade 12
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