One beautiful sunny midmorning on the berg, at the head of Blyde Canyon, after the sky had darkened over, and turned an ominous grey, a huge cloud started developing in the south. The cool southerly breeze grew stronger, and by mid-afternoon the dark cloud was nearly overhead. Suddenly a frighteningly violent electrical storm broke all around us. We fell flat, hands over ears and faces, being intimidated and petrified by the sudden viciously marvellous flashing tongues of lightning, during incessant, deafeningly, terrifying bursts of angry thunder.
It reminded me of my sister’s sermons on the awful wrath of the Good Lord ! The smell of fire and brimstone was definitely in the air that day.
The storm eventually passed over us, leaving us soaked and cold, but so grateful to still be alive ! The others were quiet that afternoon on the way back to camp.
The next morning we awoke to a soft, drizzly, foggy day. We made our way up the kranz in dense mist. I stopped for a breather near Pirow’s cairn at the top, out of the mist, and turned to look back towards the east.
The usual expansive Lowveld vista at our feet that spreads as far as the mountains of Mozambique, was totally covered in a fluffy, thick blanket of dazzlingly white cloud, in the brightly shining sun.
Sitting on a nearby rock and viewing this magnificent spectacle, all I could think of was how infinitely insignificant I was, in the midst of such dramatic contrasts.
I was awe inspired, and most certainly very humbled.
A Snippet from “Mgolomben” by Gordon Robertson
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