CAESAR HEAD

I arrived at the Clocolan turn-off. The air-con kept me cool on this hot dusty, blue-sky Free State afternoon. The shimmering haze bent the countryside — windmills looked distorted in a house of mirrors — four, five-horned cattle stood like mutants from a far flung star in a distant galaxy.

Keep to the left and you’ll pass the head of Julius Caesar, neatly beheaded and placed on top of a sandstone Koppie. For this somber occasion Nimbus cast her shadows into a prevailing wind reflecting Caesar regal ending. He looks east, reviewing Shaka Zulu’s empire, all the way to the majestic Lesotho Maluti Mountains. A blanket of wild flowers lay in front of me — what a good time to have leftover turkey sandwiches.

It was an extraordinary day. Every ninety minutes Nimbus would change her clothes, and then pour her eyes out. Saddened by my days of waiting, she would build up her dark wings and gush forth again and again. Nimbus spent the day rebuilding herself. Her personalities varied according to her mood. Charging across the skies like Nzingha, Queen of the Matamba’s, slaying all her enemies in her path. By early evening she was spent and I was on my way. Blue skies were fading to grey. Not a Dorper or Merino in sight — this is mielie country.