Summer migrants - Springtime in the austral tropics

It's that time of the year again when allergies strike fear into even the most emboldened birder and, if you're like me, the consolation of returning summer migrants hardly registers. Jasmine flowers are particularly galling, a putrid sensory assault. This alcove abomination, a devil-spawn, is a sinus chaos; a staccato of pain and pounding aggravation. Glaring through the window this foul creature stares back, a recessed mockery in the furtive breeze. Bees buzz; good creatures all, heaven-sent angels of mercy; a daily construction crew digging down to the heart of the petal.

Clouds gather, in illegal protest, chanting 'a drizzle for your smile'. It's a teased cleansing of a dry-land cloaked in winter-barren but even then this hope is false. Precipitation's still on northern holidays. Dust, a maverick monster, rolls, angry and vengeful. Winds cool, then warm, a confused farce, whisper sweet motivation and thus inspired the monster initiates an assault made seasonally desperate. It's a feat of bullying no less foul than Jasmine's putrid yellow trident. Dust bunnies, nasty bales of discarded fluff & stuff, wander the hallways clad in emperor's clothes; an avoided vacuum grey. These are the vagrants of the two-stoned wind.

Local avian residents, barren thirst-land sufferers too, refugees at home & cast aside, study the migratory swarm, geographical cowards all. These winter-homed interlopers of the upper class sing & call; a rude assault on the locals. Residents clad in winter's hand-me-downs, all drab and dull, stare at empty bowls. It's unnerving, unfair even, and a seasonal arrogance of the carbon-footprint crowd. Local bishops, disciples of tan, hold solemn vigil; weavers start their baskets for their womenfolk and the bulbuls, cowed silent, peck listlessly at the fruit-bowl dregs.

Migratory arrogance is not limited to the terrestrial pursuits. In the skies their antics are equally objectionable. Fattened six & eight-legged food, angels of mercy even; studiously avoided or sustainably traded by the local, common folk, are savagely harvested and driven to the table. It's a slavering horde, clad as they are in thin stripes or bright blue; a swift disposal of a larder at the cusp of good interest. In the backdrop the residents hold vigil, driven back to the cliffs; a rock of sanctuary.

Waded northern-clime gentry, are transitory thieves, stealing-away in the dark of night, satiated on inland snacks. Buttery-fat these social butterflies scurry, long-legged around the parched verge of ephemeral ponds. Dust- crowned, away from the table, the local tribe whisper on the blacksmith's anvil of discontent. The reveling continues, unabated, until the migratory toll is paid. The bar-bill stays unchecked; gone away south to pastures saline; a coastal assault east & west.

Africans roll-in as they do - cheap fares and a porous border. In central | eastern | western and far-northern dialects African is the immigrant language of inland hill-tops, thorny-veld and marshy vleis. It's an eclectic cacophony of multi-coloured springtime hues.

Into this antihistamine chaos locals whisper sweet protest.  Elevator-talk is a determined shout; singular defiance then summer-proud. Tailors take-in the seasonally old - new clothes, soon, of brightest hue. Construction is frenetic; on plan - spring housing springs ... anew. No. We will not go quietly into this dark night!