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THE SANDS OF TIME

We stop-- unquestioning the expertise of our Game ranger
focused--examining sand and road for tracks
Uncomprehending, we ponder waiting for clues he may disclose –the light of dawn

Finally- three words:”Do you see?”
A revelation for him
We try to discern—revealing imprints on a dusty road

Man of few words, he speaks again: “footprints...not animal...fresh, close and recent”
Bushmen behind a thicket of shrub
Authentic and unique-nomads in the Namib Desert

“A family... hunting” he enlightens us further
We sit warm in blankets and woollen scarves
They crouch, short in stature, hiding—naked and shy

Feeling uncomfortable, inappropriately wrong somehow..
Binoculars and camera’s enforce the contrast-awkwardly 
Our arrogance, whilst they are natural –reticently 

Our Ranger details informative dialogue—geographical lectures
Nomadic in their habitual housing, hunting skills faultless...

Every imprint in the sand tells its own story
Many not wanting their legends uncovered
Invasion – intrusive, identities discovered
We linger no longer—luxurious Game Lodge beckons
Enjoying a breakfast we had no need to hunt for

Copyright© April 2013—Kim van Breda

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