Dislocation
First full day back in Africa.
Fading light in the sudden dusk
A pewter sky.
I’m bathed in a sudden flood of familiarity.
The shadows of childhood memories,
Of journeys on earth-packed roads
Through miles of thorn scrub.
I follow a footpath through knee-high bushes,
Their thorns, finger-long, are soft grey
As they catch the last of the light.
Suspended from umbrella-shaped acacia trees
The globes of weaverbird nests
Form silhouettes against the glowing sky.
I know photographs will not distil
This moment,
This evocation,
This recognition of belonging here.
I also belong a continent away,
The far side of the equator,
In a rain-soaked country,
Where, right now, thorn bushes are exuberant with May blossom.