By Dianne Bayley

By Dianne Bayley After what felt like a long and particularly dusty winter, the heavens began to rumble earlier on this week. The little icon on my computer screen indicated rain and lightening. Delighted, got the shampoo and towel ready to stand outside in the first rains and wash my hair. Eventually, I took a shower. Seems the rain hit every street in the vicinity except mine. How does that happen? Roads flooded in Krugersdorp; friends were stuck in mega traffic in Bryanston; there was even hail out towards Fourways. My house - bone, brittle dry . . . and dusty as the devil’s shoes.

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Last night . . . thunder in the distance. I didn’t get excited, or get the shampoo out. I’m no fool when it comes to “insanity is doing the same thing and expecting a different result” (thanks, Mr Einstein). Then my Pickle, the Clairvoyant Kitty, went and hid in the sock box . . . and I knew the rains were really coming.

There’s little to beat a Johannesburg thunderstorm. It is spectacularly beautiful, with bolts lighting up the sky, seeming almost to crack the sky in half with their power. From the safety of the lounge - one person was struck last week and died - I watched the light turn trees into silhouettes and the stars disappear in deference to the brightness. The rain came at first for a few minutes, then later for a while. I imagined the new, green leaves on the giant oak tree outside sighing gently; and the small, scented bushes in my garden sending out their perfume with delight.

This morning, the garden was gorgeous . . . the greens seemed somehow greener and the purple flowers on the potato bushes glowed against the ochre colour of the wall. The dust is settled, giving off that musty, African smell that lets you know you’re part of an ancient ritual of dryness and dampness that brings new life.

The Irish have a song about their country that talks of Ireland’s “forty shades of green”. I have been there and witnessed more than forty shades. The Americans sing of their “sea to shining sea”. I have been there, too, and marvelled at the beauty of their oceans. South Africa has rainfall at different times of the year - our Capetonians get it through a tough, cold winter (cold by OUR standards, not Canadian, you understand!). Johannesburg gets rain in the summertime . . . and what a splendid deal that is! Long, hot days peppered with cloudbursts and lashings of rain, to cool down the earth and the temper. Steam rising for hours off too-hot tar roads, bringing a scent that reminds you you’re in a city; but bringing also the brightness of the trees to remind you you’re in the most treed city on the planet.

I took a few pics with my new, zooty digital camera. How wonderful to see the world so clean and crisp, and capture it for vuiewing when the days don’t seem quite as pretty. Cameras bring hope that way: Reminders of times that shouldn’t be taken for granted; and times you know will come around again, if you’re watchful.

I am going off today with a friend who also has a zooty new camera, to capture the exquisite beauty of the jacaranda trees that are just starting to dot the skyline with their lavender splendour. Expect some pics as we go along . . . especially in a few weeks, when they start to drop their blossoms in great, gorgeous swathes of lavender on the streets.

Of course, you could always take a trip to the Westcliff Hotel for the most spectacular views across Johannesburg, and the thousands of jacarandas and bougainvillias that brighten our city at this time of year.

Take a minute today to look around and see even the smallest beauty in your surroundings. If you’re in Johannesburg, look up at the sky and see the colour of the trees against the striking, cyan sky. We have a beauty here that we often forget, in our rushing from place to place to get things done. Remember, it is not just because we are the “money capital” of the country that Johannesburg is called “Egoli - city of gold” . . . it is also because of her people and her beauty.