The Transvaal sprawls from escarpment to plain.
Rock to marsh to savannah to baobab.
Dragon's perch, to hollow, to river.
The jagged brows of the Drakensberg,
An unflinching, ageless gaze, look out
To the north and east,
Out through God's Window.
Down Blyde river's gullet,
The water's indigo ribbon
Threading its canyons
Like a vessel towards the heart of this world.
The winding walls and valleys
Carved In the mother rock as a blade on an ebony tree,
Etched into Africa's soul.
This is a fount,
A master vein,
Renewal and life.
Renewal for the earth and the beast.
The anima, the animal - One.
The source of her stories,
The other cradle.
The ethereal mesh of tribe, land, and spirit.
Amidst the rondavels
You can feel their eyes... watching... appraising.
Luminous slits in the pitch,
Savage, measured, cunning.
Lowveld prowlers, wild, rapacious.
Scavenger, hunter, and prey.
The fierce blood, the breath,
The feral pulse.
Impala, kudu, leopard.
Warzenschweine, zebra, ubejane.
Alive, surviving
Un-caged, thriving.
This is the womb of Africa,
The Transvaal - Mpumalanga, Limpopo
The fountainhead of her blood spirit.