Night comes quickly in Africa. There is no
messing about. The sun had dropped
behind the rocky outcrop, the sky
red and golden, a real show off.
The heat of the day burned
the twilight air, the heavy air lingering, waiting
to listen to the soundtrack of the night.
At this moment, when darkness came,
the insect choir awakened out of their slumber,
just as they had done since the ancestors had heard them,
like ancient clockwork, their voices warmed in harmony.
I had the best seat of all, the coolness of the verandah,
sat under the Bulawayo sky brimful of stars.
The heat was the baton, the unseen conductor,
as the sound soared and fell away. It was like
the whole world was on fire with the insect choir
singing their hearts out. The chorus chirped and burped,
they clicked and sang. It was exquisite how they colluded
with the glow worm night and bull frog croaks,
the wildness still in my ears after all these years.
© 2021 Copyright Rick Frame
This is a re-worked piece.