like elephants in spekboom

our demons move

greyly, silently, unnoticed.

blind, we pass them

even when searching

later

their spoorsigns of destruction are revealed:

too late.

like ripples on the dark water

answers

move mysteriously with the wind –

retreat to inscrutable impenetrable depths.

later – much later –

we see the lonely bones

naked

out on the veld

still monuments which murmur:

“How goes it with your soul?”

the wind blows

sightless

across the plains and the water:

if not healing, at least

clearing and cleaning

Nature settles into her own…elephants roam

soothing in soul movement