As the drained sun hid behind the stormy clouds,
I would be elated, darting out from under the grimy and mud soaked tarp,
into to the mercy of the red wine coloured sky,
harsh and full drops of rain pelting down onto my skin
It was a primeval monsoon,
no walls to protect or in my case trap the torrent of now icy sleet from stinging my fragile white (now purple) skin. Under my old boots I could feel the squelch of bright orange clay.
I contemplate the thundering red wine sky, understanding just how removed from the pressures of society we are.
I see abundant ashen clouds advancing across.
With dread from having to take shelter, I would trudge across the plains and collapse in the leaking, damp tent, salvaging the blankets that had not been wrecked by the muddy trickle coming in the corners.
Taking a glimpse outside I see a silhouette of my father, crouched by the crackling embers, eating smoky, burnt bread.
Up in the sky, was a sight far more brilliant than a fireworks display-
a celestial moon, signalling to the wolves it was time to begin their mournful lament.
A few minutes ago I had been basking in a incandescent fire, only to have to scurry into the tent.
The chilling rain gets to you more when you're exhausted.
Now I curled up in an arctic style igloo- With a torch that exudes only yellow light reading my favourite book,
oblivious now, to the plummeting temperature.
I wake up to a strange still, where is the birdsong?
Pulling on a hoodie I stumbled out only to be greeted by muddy imprints of a wild dogs' footprint and a herd of wild brumbies right next to our now smoky fire.
Those horses are such powerful beings, with rippling muscles and dust patched coats, soulful eyes glinting in the sunlight.
Darting my eyes to the other side of our camp only to see in a mixture of fascination and disgust, trees coated and draped in Orb spiders webs...
They were scintillating in the rising bloodshot sunrise.
