An African Sunrise

One of my first poems, written in 2001, purely describing a magnificent sunrise.

The dust rises like hot mist over the sun-baked plains.
Red dust, fine as cinnamon,
simmers round the wiry trees in wandering fumes.
Floating melodies of twittering birds serenade the glowing horizon
and ancient elephants bugle forth their noble anticipation
as the first subtle gold of the sun licks over the lands
setting the veld alight in a radiant fire of newly-minted gold.
The dormant land is washed in a tidal wave of rippling tawny light.
Fiery sun-spears delve into the splashes of inky shadow,
dissolving the dark.
Sun-kissed clouds, that drift in drowsy wisps, drape themselves across the heavens
and great hills hunch with protruding shoulders of quartz against the sky,
like sculptures half-unearthed.
The smell of a day in its youth is like fresh blood- invigorating.
Africa herself breathes it in.
As silently as it was born
the magnificence of Africa’s glorious sunrise fades.
The azure skies peaceful and serene once more,
until the majesty of morning rises again.