Shower of Frogs: Chapter 3 conclusion

And, above all, of the tormenting sun.

For, in North Africa, we had lived by the sun. We were its prisoners.

For six solid weeks at Marnia from sunup to sundown, from reveille to taps, we lived in its direct presence. There was an occasional cloud, a spare tree, a jeep's shadow, but the total effect was unrelenting sun. When it dropped behind the mountain, almost as if on signal, a breeze entered the valley.

The mornings were lovely and quiet. Birds hopped and sang in the nearby fields; sheep cried in the moist morning air; stooping reapers moved along the skyline. The morning was purple and gold and lingered in its loveliness until shattered by the rapid notes of the bugler.

At the peak of noon the sun scorched the land. Tall whirling funnels of wind and dust moved erratically along soft, undampened roads. The crucifying sun circumscribed a great arch across the valley. The reapers moved almost imperceptibly abreast the fields. By mid-afternoon the land simmered. It awaited the sun's subsiding.

Come evening the mighty and commanding sun paused to reflect in its own image till finally it disappeared in its self-engendered splendor. The heat receded. The earth gave way. The patient reapers straightened their backs and moved off to thatched huts. Once a white horse did gallop off in the distance. A gentle breeze drifted through the valley. Darkness gathered round our camp. The bugler seemed to linger over his note. The soft night in a deepening stillness glittered with enormous stars. Gentle sleep came with the cooling of the earth.