It has been more than two years since I left Zambia. And these days always fill me with memories that make want to go back. It is warm there this time of the year. The last rain fell in April and the chill of June and July is replaced by a crispy dusty warm wind. The grass if not burned are brown. But the trees are exploding into foliage. Buds shoot and clothe branches stripped naked during the cold months. Hues in between deep red and green reach out and fly in the wind.

But what I remember most is the arid earth and the people who till them this time of year, in preparation for the coming of the first rain. The hardened soil that explodes dust is turned, little by little, with every lift and fall of the hoe. The big molten sun swells as it seems to kiss the land at sunset. Then people move home, casting long shadows in the surreal orange glow when the sun and earth meet at the horizon.

This time of year, I can easily be found at Mindolo dam for a swim or at Kumasamba Lodge spending a lazy Sunday afternoon. In both places, I can go fishing or in Kumasamba, trek in the wooded area and be in for a pleasant surprise like a duiker suddenly crossing my path, a bid of exotic colors lands on a brach near my way or a rhino bathing by the river.

Zambia is beautiful. Some of its beauty comes in magnificent splendor (see the Mosi-o-tunya, Luangwa Valley). But it has also the quiet and subtle charm in its ordibary sights that gradually overtakes by those who stay longer. And once this appears to the beholder, it remains a color a sound or an experience of a place with all its spirit ans soul.