Full Moon Bomb

Eerie rays of moon light filter through the pines, casting soft dappled light on the weather worn asphalt. Looking skywards through a parting in the forest canopy I watch as the South Easter, howling up amongst the Jonkershoek mountains, buffet clouds in front of the full moon. The wind, snarling in the stratosphere, is less intense on the valley floor, but still it tugs at my hood. A sudden chill races up my spine and the hairs on the back of my neck rise as my pulse races.

Anticipation - fight or flight. 

Lowering my hood I become acutely aware of the darkness, only the white central line of the road is visible, the forest floor is a dark tangle, and up ahead the black tarmac dissolves into the night, just as it does behind me. On a night like this one cannot help but feel the primal instincts surging to the surface, fighting off the mantle of the civilized man.

The road twisting up the valley isn’t steep, but it’s smooth, worn to an oily texture which absorbs both light and sound. Suddenly they emerge from the darkness ahead, floating at first as they materialise. Then the hum of their wheels become audible, the soft purr of thousands of rotations. Hunkered down in full tuck, they fly by, leaving only the swirl of leaves to confirm their presence.