It had finally happened – the Summer rains have arrived and on each of the two previous evenings we have enjoyed the spectacle of Highveld thunder storms, complete with magnificent lightning shows and rolling thunder that shakes you right down into your belly. And beautiful rain, lovely rain, quenching a very thirsty earth that has been crying out for some kind of moisture since I arrived back in South Africa in June.
Ulricha and I were sitting by the pool on Saturday morning just enjoying the sun, the water that is slowly becoming warmer, and more friendly for swimming, and the aftermath of the previous evenings storm. Somehow everything seemed cleaner, brighter, more alive. A small weaver bird was starting to build a nest in a palm tree, clearly eager to impress some young weaver female with his handiwork.
Actually, speaking of Weavers – I have found a very similar blog to my own – detailing the return to South Africa of an ex pat after a period in living in the UK – The Weavers Nest . In fact, our return is so close in terms of time, we may have been on the same plane! I am enjoying Kirsty’s honest and open writing as she tells how she and her family are getting back into South African life. If you have a chance, do go have a look and a read.
As for us – well we are having a quiet weekend, trying to still recover from our holiday last week. It’s ironic really how you can go on holiday and sometimes return more exhausted than when you left.
Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts
Sunday, 19 October 2008
Sunday, 31 August 2008
Mother City visit: Relentless rain and driving winds
There’s a moment of silence now. The kind of silence that gets louder with each passing second, until once again being broken by the roar of a Northerly gale against the window of my bedroom.
It is 6:30 in the morning on Sunday. I have been in bed since last night – I couldn’t tell you how much of that time I have actually slept.
The storm which, for the whole of Saturday had been touted as “the worst is yet to come” by locals, eventually struck around the time I went to bed. For the whole night the wind has tried to remove the roof of my parents house. Rain – and more recently hail – has hammered against the window pains with such force that the sound has become just a constant roar of noise, a cocophony of rattling, hammering, beating and banging as the water is thrown against the glass by the raging wind.
I have just looked outside the window – fearful of what I might see, but the sun appears to have been too scared to wake up this morning, and it is still dark outside.
Cape Town is already soaked to the skin from a very wet winter, and the ground is very close to saturated. I cannot see how the rain of the last 7 hours could not have caused flooding – and possibly severe flooding. And I cannot see how the wind has not caused damage to homes and businesses – and particularly to those living in the informal settlements around Cape Town.
I am in a brick and mortar house in Tableview – and I feel fortunate to still be in Tableview, and not to have been transported to Muizenberg like some modern day Dorothy.
It would be a miracle of quite some order if the Mother City has come through the night with just minor damage. I fear what dawn’s light may reveal.
It is 6:30 in the morning on Sunday. I have been in bed since last night – I couldn’t tell you how much of that time I have actually slept.
The storm which, for the whole of Saturday had been touted as “the worst is yet to come” by locals, eventually struck around the time I went to bed. For the whole night the wind has tried to remove the roof of my parents house. Rain – and more recently hail – has hammered against the window pains with such force that the sound has become just a constant roar of noise, a cocophony of rattling, hammering, beating and banging as the water is thrown against the glass by the raging wind.
I have just looked outside the window – fearful of what I might see, but the sun appears to have been too scared to wake up this morning, and it is still dark outside.
Cape Town is already soaked to the skin from a very wet winter, and the ground is very close to saturated. I cannot see how the rain of the last 7 hours could not have caused flooding – and possibly severe flooding. And I cannot see how the wind has not caused damage to homes and businesses – and particularly to those living in the informal settlements around Cape Town.
I am in a brick and mortar house in Tableview – and I feel fortunate to still be in Tableview, and not to have been transported to Muizenberg like some modern day Dorothy.
It would be a miracle of quite some order if the Mother City has come through the night with just minor damage. I fear what dawn’s light may reveal.
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