Atop ancient mattresses of lava,
And wrinkled granite sheets,
The flames of Namaqualand yawn and rise.
A tapestry of color, stretching, singing to the eyes,
Flushed, drunk on the rounds of spring showers.
Canvases of lilac, and goldenrod erupting.
Coral kisses and apricot jam
Spill their songs from the soil to the sky.
Wildflower seas, vast bouquets of daisies,
Their eyes trained at once, as one, to their azure heaven.
In reception for showers and dew.
Quiver tree forests awaken, their saffron blooms
Calling cards for warblers and sunbirds.
This arid, dust caked desert of stone,
Comes alive with the current and vibrance of rain,
Each year a fiesta of color and melody,
Symbiosis, pageant, ritual.
Gaia as artist,
Weaving her carpets of butter and fire.
Just as when these plains were born
In the magma glow of her core's desire.
