On our flight back from Zululand to Cape Town, a thick cloud of fearful anticipation hung over the trip. We had heard reports of a massive storm hitting the Cape, and we were braced for a wild, bumpy landing that would be a world away from the 34-degree sunshine we had left behind in Durban.
About thirty minutes before our scheduled arrival, I looked out the cabin window and saw nothing but brilliant, golden light. Relieved and confused, I turned to Antony and my sister, Jo.
"Wow, it's still sunny!" I exclaimed. "I would have thought it would be getting dark and stormy by now."
Antony looked at me with a mix of amusement and pity. "Yes, Graeme," he said gently, "that's probably because we are still above the clouds."
Sure enough, as the pilot began our descent and we dipped below that white, fluffy floor, the world transformed. The bright gold vanished, replaced by an ominous, dark grey. We landed safely in the end, but I left the plane with a newfound appreciation for the fact that just because you can see the sun doesn't mean the storm isn't waiting for you just a few thousand feet below.
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