Song of the mountain

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.

A Cape sugarbird dries himself on a bush while the grey
sky settles above the harbour.