Gospel of grass

On a hot, summer's day it’s all about grass.

Grass in crowds of small, dry pods at the end of long brown stems that waltz towards the sun.

Or green blades that sway like dancers on very long, slim legs.

And small grass forests along the path.

This universe of grass must surely be the holder of something big and secret.

Not just grass.

A fly, a blade, a stream.

Grass bleached white like whale bones by the afternoon sun.

Tree trunk with stones collected from a long gone flooded river.

And the sky burns

The sun sets early in Deer Park -

a place with a green and tranquil heart

and where a stream always sings,

here at the gentle foot of massive Platteklip.

But then, when driving home,

a fire of a sunset jumps from Lion’s Head

and sets the sky alight with burning clouds,

freeing the city, the mountain, the world.

While in Deer Park all was soft, green and tranquil.