IN THE JUNGLE, THE MIGHTY JUNGLE...

           A warm welcome to the woods is in place. Shrubs, trees, tall grass, kinky grass, clean air, even the dust is somewhat different, waterholes (the animals’ boardroom), herds and more herds of animals, some still solitary. Well, here’s a piece from the park, a tale best put down than narrated by mouth.

            The zebras stand out in their vintage black and white coats. I don’t know how long they have had this but from yonder stories, I understand that there was a painter in the woods. I admire his brush for a job well done. Some are chewing cud, others are listlessly gazing into the distance. They love the dust, it seems, as they play in the few patches of the savannah that are devoid of grass. But those coats, those coats don’t seem to get dull, the wonders of nature! Here’s a good pose...

what you looking at?

            A grant’s gazelle paces after another, one time jogging and the next time running after having a head-to-head. These ungulates love to play in their natural gymnasium. Unable to catch up with its opponent’s speed, it slows down to the opposite direction. It then stops and stares into the distance, probably absorbing a panoramic view of it. Amazing how it forgets that it was having a chase. With such an environment, who needs to play all the time anyway, or so I think it wonders.

head-to-head

Chase...

Bored...no more chasing

      

  A velvet monkey poses on a rock with its right foot stretched out having heartily groomed its siblings. Neat freaks of the jungle, but do we say? Then in its agility, it skips from tree to tree and chatters some gibberish to call out for the rest. Who knew they hug...?

What's the secret?

            Moving on to elephants, there’s a herd right ahead. They walk in families and clean up at the waterholes. Then they smear themselves with mud or dust that acts as natural sunscreen and constantly fan their ears to cool their large physique. These same animals are very picky with food, they don’t eat the roots. They pluck grass, swish to keep the flies off then thrust the chunk into the mouth, shredding it with the teeth to let the roots fall off. They have been called gardeners of the forest in their felling of trees that helps reduce the density of the jungle and aerates the ground below. Seems they all have their chores set right. 

            The Egyptian goose...another marvel! Loves to stand on one foot and when they are all paraded in water, they are a sight to behold. What’s more? They sleep (rest/retreat) while standing with their head tucked backward in their feathers...

how many geese are awake?

magnificent!

            Lazy hyena was spotted taking a break. Too tired to gather up something for the day. Rest away spotty one..

            Up on the tree is a rare bird...the bateleur. It’s French for a tight rope walker. The colour mix it has is amazing...It is generally introverted, if it must have company, only with a mate but most of the year, you’ll find it perched on the tree, building a nest or staring at tour vans like this one here...

            A lioness camouflages itself in the tall grass. She is waiting for the waterbucks and gazelles as they approach the waterhole. An afternoon kill she hopes to get. It squats further hoping not to be spotted but they sense her presence and retreat to the grass beyond. Funny how the females hunt while the males simply guard and stroll. Even then, in the jungle, the mighty jungle...let’s hope the lion sleeps tonight.

Serious camouflage right there!

Stroll away

          

          Further interest in bird life leads me to observe the crowned crane. These exist in pairs and love to jump up and down in some rhythmic harmony. In the sunset overlooking the orange-flamed horizon, they dance, watch each other, gaze into each other’s eyes (seriously!) and jump up and down some more. They take time to enjoy the setting of the sun, high 5 to the joys of the day and maintain their evening workout. They preen their feathers with their beaks and meticulously get them lined. Neck to tail, primary feathers to secondary feathers, nice and neat.

            Back for dinner after the long drive. A glass of wine to keep my eyelids open for the remaining minutes of the night. The one man guitar plucks his 6-string and closes the night with a local tune, ‘I am sorry Stella that I am in jail. I’ll be here for quite a while, so move on, marry another and bear me a female child.’ The wind blows through the trees in the jungle that never sleeps.