And so begins the day (Namibia poem)

This poem is more of a hymn really – in praise of the beautiful country of Namibia.

Somewhere in Namibia

a leopard is lying beneath a tree –

blind siding us tourists, would be hunters –

with its leaf dappled camoflauge,

its limpid torpor, energy inert

yet a creature so readily explosive.

Nearby, cheetahs will be splayed in threesomes

on a red dirt road

a regally indifferent display.

And so begins the day,

the iron aged redded

silvered grassed, bed spreaded

yellowed mountained, dry fountained day.

At Etosha, the jackels will still be bewildering

in their dog like innocence,

concealing a vicious core,

slinking, sylph like,

across the yellow flowered savannah floor.

And so begins the day,

the wilderbeest, kudu, springbok freckled day,

the guinea fowled, goshawked, startled starlinged day,

as ostriches primp and pirouette

unlikely ballerinas

silhouetted against the elephant skinned hills.

At Doro Nawas, the fort like, bush burnt walled cabins

will be staring at the purple mountain rimmed prairie.

And so begins the day,

the eleven elephants trailed, green grassed and water holed

Egyptian goosed, African shelducked, blacksmith plovered

warthog clovered day.

Would that we could have stayed

to watch these desert adapted, brown dirt slapping

done and dusted, skin crusted

matriarch led

cooled grasses ahead, sublime group

marching solemnly along the Namibian parade.

At Erongo

the sun will already be lingering upon

early morning baboons and dassies,

embracing the dawn ritual of greeting the sun,

whilst this yellow warmth

falling pink upon precariously placed boulders,

is that of youth, renewal, the beginning:

throughout the ever baking day

it falls more harshly, less sympathetically

and, like us, it ends the day

older.

But, so begins the day

the quietly tented, spread eagled , mountain valleyed day,

the cuddling dassied, plump doved, love birded,

yellow canaried day.

At Kulala Wilderness Lodge

even now

the greened mountains are peaked by balloons

and the plain is buttered by creamy dancing grasses.

A weaver sociably passes by my balconied morning

and, sadly for me at least, this dawning

also heralds a return, a parting

for this day , we too, take flight,

no worries (we hope) of being predated,

simply put – repatriated.

But still, so begins the day,

the red duned, sharply shadowed,angled and sand sculpted day,

the dancing while lady spidered, snaked , lizarded and jackel tracked,

haring through the dunes

film crewed, acacia strewed, desert safaried day.

To come, the road to Windhoek

and the return to our own home bound herd

African sky embedded, emboldened and enamoured,

undiminished, undeterred.

Going back, it’s not that bad.

And so begins the day,

African adored abroad,

and journeying along side lovely you,

is to be,

ever glad.