 |
|
Dusk over the Vaal Dam is a spectacular affair: as the sun sinks lower on the horizon it turns into a huge, crimson fireball. The sky explodes into the most translucent layers of orange, yellow and midnight blue. A slight breeze stirs the leaves in the bluegum trees. Gentle waves lap the shore and in the distance, the squawking of seagulls blend with the lazy lowing of cattle on their way home after a day in the field.
And then there is that exquisite moment when the round disk of the sun touches the water. Suddenly, everything is quiet, as if the whole of creation has gone to bed. The circle becomes an egg. We know it is a trick of nature; that this distortion has to do with the bending of the atmosphere - yet we don’t care. A miracle is happening right in front of our eyes. It is the miracle of time; of wakefulness and sleep; of birth and death; of winter and summer. And when we can share this miracle with our beloved, it gains so much more in significance.
|
|
To this day, sunset over the Vaal Dam brings back the smells, the sounds, the tastes of that week I spent with Joey. People tell me the redness of sunsets in that part of the world is caused by the pollution from the industrial areas of the Vaal Triangle and the Witwatersrand a hundred miles away. I don’t care. I could have died on any of those evenings, so long ago now.
Click. An expanse of silvery water with just a sliver of orange left on the far horizon.
Click. A young man and woman walking home hand in hand, their black silhouettes etched against the darkening sky of Africa, their hearts beating wildly for each other and for the pulse of this wild and warm continent that gave them birth. |
