You could hear it over the mountains facing north, the gray clouds loomed just over the peaks. It was heading this way. The thunder grew louder and the rain became more intense. The first drops were subtly and light, a smell of wet peat, clay, and sand filled the reserve infront of me. Holy rays of light pierced the looming scattered odious clouds of resolve. Once rested, birds filled the air in an escape for a dry flight into drier lands. Hornbills fluttered in two, diving down to skim the tall grass and ascend back into a flow of dry wind that carry them into sunny grassy lands.

I got back into my bucky and followed the wet tire tracks down the side of dammed wetland. Waterbuk pronged to alert scared from the starting of my engine. There safety on the wetland island did not seem strong enough so they darted across the bank and made their way towards another. Four females and three young. The young as old as two weeks. The matriarch stood tall and faced me, gazed into my eyes hoping to find no hostility.

The land grows cold at night and at this time in the late afternoon a dense fog fills the tops of the wetlands. Cold gusts of wind enter through my windows and makes chicken of my skin. The rain started to delete the silence filling the air with a strong scent of wet grass.

The action of rain has control on the rest of the day, the clouds filter the sun as they pass through and make their way across the reserve. A faint yellow sunset glistens in each raindrop that rests on the leaves of Acacias and Aloes. The Marula tree releases a faint smell of sweetness, the bark ladened with moisture swelled.

Showers are periodical, the rain comes and goes, pours then sprinkles.