Sometimes we go to a game park and see ‘nothing.’ Just the old elephant bull and his eyes that seem to penetrate our dark souls, reading us like we’re a page in his book, drama unfolding.
Or the rhinos in mid charge, in a cloud of red dust and with a swarm of blood-sucking flies, following faithfully – indifferent to us.
Or the giraffe that casually peers over the top of an acacia tree; her head and neck being cleared of ticks and other annoying insects. She watches us with interest; fumbling for cameras and binoculars and grunting some sounds she has no understanding of. She takes another mouthful of leaves and walks on.
But the buffalo – moody, irritable – and glaring at us with one eye, daring us to come nearer – imagining what it would be like to ram his left horn into the shiny hard body…
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