photo: Sue Kramer
When the bridge flooded between Arniston and Bredasdorp everybody drove out to have a look. Sheets of water lay on the dry scrubby renosterveld on all sides creating unlikely vistas of endless lakes. Puffadders (dead) lay strewn on the margins of the flooded road. Their offspring and frogs (alive) swam through the brown muddy water that streamed across it. Children played on rafts wading waist deep in the brown water in what was once fields. They screeched with excitement at the imaginary and real monsters lurking in the opaque water. Cars bravely tested the water levels before reversing out in a hurry. The heavens opened up and gave the jubilant congregation more water in which to revel. All good fun except perhaps for the farmer who had to clean up and fix fences when the water abated after three or four days.
Here we are heading in different directions. An amicable split? No, merely joyously drenched.