The rains came. Bursting clouds, white water rushed over the
edge of Table Mountain, billions of droplets exploding onto big, flat, shiny, brown
rocks.
And so, after the long summer, the mountain burst into song.
A chorus of a thousand voices as streams and eddies and waterfalls rushed and
swirled and splashed.
In the cold water-laden air along the ravines and gorges,
proteas and restios and ericas swayed and dipped to the jubilant hallelujah chorus
of winter’s first big rain.
The mountain sings again.
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| A Cape sugarbird dries himself on a bush while the grey sky settles above the harbour. |
