It is easy in a dreamer’s mind, a mind held by the wilderness, to dream of ancient times, but in reality it is only a dream for we have broken a promise and pulled our civilization away from the ancient code. Now all we hear are echoes .....
These verses were written during a time spent at Little Momboin the Okavango Delta. Most of the Photographs were taken from the walkway and deck of the lodge. They tell a small part of the story ...
Seasons
In the ancient song, seasons are mere moments passing into each other, mere moments in the passing of time, and within the seasons are moments passing unnoticed
From: A portrait of the seasons
Moments
A moment unnoticed in the happening passing back to dust unnoticed but by a mere echo in the shadow of the passing
From: Mombo – The secret realm
Feather
Isolated on a drying pan a word a sentence updating an ancient script
From: Mombo – The secret realm
Space and Ancient Trails
In a time untouched in our distance ancient trails newly trodden by the past echo a distant land a yearning in patterns
From: Space and ancient trails
Flight and Sunsets
Space envelopes the path of flight and skies red in the moments of evening pass into time and darkness enveloping the path of all
From: Space and ancient trails
Morning
Mist flowed on the floodplains silhouetting the rising dawn and trees, leafless and full rose above into a lighting sky visions of a time before time
There was no roar or distant whoop to echo past the silhouettes the world beyond was still until the sun burnt through and brought the time back
From: The morning song
Sunset
Silhouettes highlighted on fading orange reflected in dust
Paling with darkness into outlines on a far, high horizon
From: Evening song
Greens
shades of green full and fat in plenty shadowed in light lighted in shadow dulling with time into colours of green
From: A portrait of the seasons
Patterns
Patterns etched on the mind of the seasons of dry in dust and desolation patterns of fullness greens and verdant plains
Patterns of the moments within the seasons the dawns and the night chorus the heat and the lulling of the senses
Patterns of comfort and insecurities for it with the seasons that our souls are held
From: Patterns
Death of a butterfly
Life did not hold your beauty to itself forever nor death the abstract patterns, patterns splayed in mud, not in cruelty, but in colours and shadows, mere moments washed in a storm into the season
From: Patterns
Reflections
In the silence of us A visual feast An audible orgy In the sky And reflected In the light And shadows
Reflections Of time Of seasons Sky And silhouetted islands Reflections Of a yearning For an ancient paradise Reflections of ourselves
From: Reflections
Copyright @ Leigh Kemp 2004
Leigh Kemp - African Travel Writer and Photographer
