A Gift From The Sun:

A great orb hangs above the planet, deceptively motionless,

A suspended jewel of liquescent gold.  The horizon shimmers

Softly, with the heat hiding an uncertain reality in a distant haze.

All is still.  Birds and beasts seek the tender solace of the shade.

Bees, bugs, butterflies are sluggish, vague in a sense of purpose.

A heavy blanket of indolence has been laid soft across the land.

Cattle, horses, sheep seek the comforting shadows of trees with

Branches laden with soporific birds.  A tentative ‘coo’ is heard.

Cats, in their cruel indolence, choose to siesta in the high shade

Where the deep eaves of the hangars overhang, their eyes slits,

Lustrous killing machines lie on standby, ready to drop on mice,

But they too seek shade, and are safe in their snug, unseen nests.

The lawn is straw, the land cracking in the unremitting heat,

Even the dogs shun it, favouring shade, as it offers no comfort.

He steps slow from the cool of the thick-walled house and is hit

Almost physically, by a wall of heat.  Gingerly, he takes a seat

And lets the warmth sink through his skin, and into his bones.

The aches of age slowly drift down into the chair and dissipate.

He closes his eyes, adjusts his position slightly and then stares

Straight into the Sun. Familiar delicate outlines waltz, trip-like,

The dark and the light yellows, the ambers, golds and browns.

Slowly the images coalesce and he, his breathing now shallow,

Stares down steadily, as though through the pin-sharp eyes of a

Falcon, across the sea of endless dunes, wave after rolling wave

Of sand, painted and coloured by Gaia, and after some moments

His quiet perseverance is rewarded and a caravan of willowy

Camels appear from the depths of the light, led by Bedouin folk

In snow white thobes, their red chequered ghutras over heads,

Necks and shielding their faces against sharp sand and, to the

Ignorant, life-robbing sun, goat’s wool shawls completing their

Insulation.  Women and children sway atop the laden camels,

Their tents, pots and pans – their lives packed neatly and ready.  

They follow a trail beside a stone-dry wadi, their feet treading

The same route as their ancestors, dark goats bleating, sheep,

Donkeys, and much prized horses herded by the older children,

Already wise to the unforgiving world they inhabit, treating it

With deferential caution, their not to be taken for granted, most

Exacting provider.  The menfolk walk with proud purpose, at

Home, their polished Jambiya at their sides and Kalashnikovs

Slung loosely over one shoulder, an ammunition belt the other,

Their love of freedom topped only by their fierce love of Allah.

He breathes deep, tasting the hot air with his tongue, and then

Climbing to a greater height he sees their goal.  A mirror glints

Close-by, with a ragged scruff of shrubs and trees shouting out

Their life, the cocky tenacity of growing things.  He notes that

The camels too must have tasted the water in the air and their

Pace picks up, as does that of the other animals, their younger

Herders running to keep up.  As they rise up the hill and make

Sight a great cheer and laughter fills the air and men, camels,

Children and all the other beasts break into a gentle, water-

Wasting trot.  Here is luxury.  Here is a time of relaxation and

Peace.  Here they will meet their cousins and friends, trade and

Celebrate life together.  Here their desert mother will provide

Them surcease, and they will dance, and when their precious

Horses have had time to build themselves up again, they will

Ride and sing, and the young ones will intermingle, under their

Elder’s careful eyes.  Pledges will be struck and there will be

Feasting before they once more return into the desert and go, 

At the last, through to the pasture lands to trade with their more

Settled, softer but still much loved brothers who take with them

Into the desert their pickup trucks, generators, A/C units, water

Bowsers, diesel tankers and the like.  Still, each Allah’s child.   

Something disturbs him slightly; the phantasmagorias shimmer   

An instant.  He makes a doomed effort to hold them firm again.

He loses it as a small, ginger cat demands his return to reality.

His heart cries out silently at his loss, but gradually he lowers

His head, opens his eyes and reaches to stroke the little bundle

Which, not knowing it should not be so, has a character as large

And demanding as an entire, though smallish, mercurial planet.

The little bundle responds, climbing up his chest, unaware of

His carving claws, and rubs his nose against his unshaved chin.

Slowly he stands, a little disjointed, torn from the desert world,

Holds the kitten carefully against his chest, turns and re-enters

The cool house, at peace once more with his beloved world.