Sunsets
2/10/18
Words sometimes do better than photos.
Yesterday, it seemed like it may rain, but of course it wasn't meant to be. It has been said this town is cursed and I'm wondering how many goats do we have to pay the witch doctor to lift it. A few teasing drops fell on and around us, but mainly just left a cloudy sky.
Recognizing this, we paused dinner prep and flew off to the pile of boulders behind the secondary school. We scrambled up the trail to the top, laughing as we declared this as a replacement for a proper workout with Tafel in hand. Weaving through stabby bushes and misplaced fences, we popped out to a sight that made me glad I left my camera at home; no shot would've done it justice.
On my right was the rainstorm that could not and would not be over us. Complete with thunder and lightning, the sheets of rain were suspended beneath the dark clouds of fury. Directly behind me was the calm that antecedes the storm, full of cotton candy blue skies and the lush grasslands of thankful cattle ranchers. To my left were depressing overcast, hazy clouds, hanging low over the village. They blurred the tops of the peaks outside the village and formed forboding silhouettes of the others between here and the coast.
In front of me was the burnt orange ball of fire central to all Namibian sunsets. As it fell to its nightly resting place, the sun seemed to come to rest in a wash basin comprised of two bare-top hills. The fading warm light basked the innumerable acacia trees carpeting the space between us and the horizon. The soundtrack to this short film was performed by the thousands of rock hyrax amongst the acacias with no conductor, no tempo, and no restraint.
After watching the light in our lives go dormant, we rushed home for fear of two too toasted butternut squashes and anticipation of bolognese. Sunsets here in Namibia take your breath away. Although you can't always take a worthy image in retaliation, the memories and feelings more than suffice.
Words sometimes do better than photos.
Yesterday, it seemed like it may rain, but of course it wasn't meant to be. It has been said this town is cursed and I'm wondering how many goats do we have to pay the witch doctor to lift it. A few teasing drops fell on and around us, but mainly just left a cloudy sky.
Recognizing this, we paused dinner prep and flew off to the pile of boulders behind the secondary school. We scrambled up the trail to the top, laughing as we declared this as a replacement for a proper workout with Tafel in hand. Weaving through stabby bushes and misplaced fences, we popped out to a sight that made me glad I left my camera at home; no shot would've done it justice.
On my right was the rainstorm that could not and would not be over us. Complete with thunder and lightning, the sheets of rain were suspended beneath the dark clouds of fury. Directly behind me was the calm that antecedes the storm, full of cotton candy blue skies and the lush grasslands of thankful cattle ranchers. To my left were depressing overcast, hazy clouds, hanging low over the village. They blurred the tops of the peaks outside the village and formed forboding silhouettes of the others between here and the coast.
In front of me was the burnt orange ball of fire central to all Namibian sunsets. As it fell to its nightly resting place, the sun seemed to come to rest in a wash basin comprised of two bare-top hills. The fading warm light basked the innumerable acacia trees carpeting the space between us and the horizon. The soundtrack to this short film was performed by the thousands of rock hyrax amongst the acacias with no conductor, no tempo, and no restraint.
After watching the light in our lives go dormant, we rushed home for fear of two too toasted butternut squashes and anticipation of bolognese. Sunsets here in Namibia take your breath away. Although you can't always take a worthy image in retaliation, the memories and feelings more than suffice.
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