Hissing along the flat dry sand roads of the Eastern Cape where rains have not come to rut and ruin the surface, noiseless bush rushes past with few interruptions and little flashes of subdued colours.
Long slim blue/yellow bands, winding through grey dusty scrub, crawl alongside their overshadowing hills, obeying orders to turn here and climb there. Never free to make the journey quicken.
Bright paint on dun walls and bravely contrasting wooden eyes and noses of the small dwellings who nestle together, their backs to the harsh sun and biting winter wind.
Harsh expensive lines of a brick and stucco church, stabbing diagonals and stretching limbs looking for the illusive celestial, laugh at the beggars and boozers sitting on it’s dirty pavements.
Keep off the Tar! This is god and gravel~land.