In the yellow light of late autumn
we walked through the blackened landscape
of a recent burn
The smell of fire
of burnt fynbos
of burnt rock
of burnt earth
Clean and strong.

Everywhere
the bare boned protea heads
burst
copper coloured seeds
onto the ash.

Everywhere
the lichen-scribed boulders
lay
still and naked
on the charcoaled ground.

And I loved that I could see
the sandy path for miles
making its way
like a piece of white string
trailed loosely along the land

You’d think the black crows
pecking amongst the carnage
would conjure
death, Shakespeare’s stories
and medieval London
And they did.

But in my heart I felt at home
Or beyond home
I felt close to the start and end of things
I recognised something so familiar
Something like eternity.