Currently stuck. On the side of a mountain. With a timid cook and her quiet daughter. The clouds gray as smoke and the lightning playing hot potato with the thunder. Our ride is undecided still. We couldn’t walk back because of the chances of death by lightning strike. Adventure calls. My soul fulfilled. Watching and listening to this symphony God is orchestrating. My eyes bear witness to the clouds full of vengeance intently moving towards the dry land below us. I had to get cover because the rain didn’t want me to write. Me and my friend Josh. Sitting in a small school room. Watching the rain and lightning captivate the swazi land we looked down on. Everyone else just took off running. To a small red container that was converted into a snack shop.
Behind me lies South Africa. The land that holds the end to Swaziland’s drought in its territory. Clouds slowly making their way over the mountains that we’re on. Curling. Forming. Molding. With the mountains steep edge. With an eeriness, yet beautiful aroma with every intention of bringing fertile goodness to Swaziland.
Lightning strike just filled the room. Its light and sound vibrated everyone’s bodies. I’m outside again. Sitting on a paint bucket. Brand new. The rain having stopped us from finishing painting the lime colored building. The little over hang the tin roof provides, gives me just enough space to write this and be outside. Being one with the mountains. I can. In a way feel the clouds, bloated with rain, roll over me as of the mountains. I’m perched. Seeing the lighting strikes. Blinding, yet eye opening at the same time. Waiting and counting for how far the storm is away. Waiting for the perfect thunder to tremble our souls. Deepest wants.
Purple as I write. All I see. A strike of lightning to the left of the building that’s keeping us dry. Startled yet awakened in heart, mind and soul. The crack heard after shook EVERYthing. As if God clapped at our faith and good paint jobs. A few brave souls circle to the back of the building. Intrigued by the purple electricity that started a new lightning show we couldn’t pass up. With only seconds of sitting in the lightning position, the rain covers the horizon and comes down in buckets on us. We race back to the safe side. Laughing and full of happiness. Some school kids just appeared in the doorway of our storm shelter, which I guess was their’s too. Seeking refuge in more ways than one. They move to a corner. Avidly watching our every move. The persistent rain becoming a forcefield and at the same time a beautifully creative/seductive masterpiece by the Maker himself. Our knight in shining armor. The truck driver with one glove has arrived in our time of need. Hurriedly we piled in.
We, the thieves. The mountain rain, the persistent owner of our true souls. Not wanting us to miss the slightest of its rain blankets. Nipping at our heels all the way home. Forever feeling connected to the mountain side that help us captive as long as it could.
