Highveld Storms

Our house stood on a hillside overlooking the town. The dining room, where we spent most of our family time in summer, faced south offering a view of the rocky outcrops or “koppies” and the footpath that lead through the veld to the river. Beyond that, lay the small town and in the distance the open veld and farmlands.  On a clear day, the ragged outline of the  Suikerbosrand  could be seen on the horizon, from where the late-afternoon  Highveld thunderstorms came.

The storms always fascinated me and I could tell when it was going to rain. The dark rainclouds rolled in from the south, discharging their anger as they moved closer, bringing the smell of rain with it. Long before the wind started up, the birds would take to the air and seemed to fly faster than usual.  They criss-crossed through the air, each one finding a safe perch to hide before the arrival of the wind that would sweep dry leaves and  paper or plastic high into the air. Suddenly as it started, the wind would die down.  
Silence.

We waited then, the birds and I, holding our breaths for the loud first frightening crack of thunder. It always made me jump, however much I expected it to happen.  The large drops of rain raised dust on the dirt road and pelleted the corrugated iron roof of our home. The noise of the rain on the roof would drown out all other sounds, but it seldom lasted very long. As the angry clouds moved overhead to the north, steam rose from the roof in pale rays of sunlight. The raindrops formed tiny rivulets on the window glass.

    Sometimes a rainbow appeared.