The elephants stand
like monuments
at the watering hole.
Less water, more mud,
yet they drink
and bathe, content;
the watering holes
never quite give out.
Later, in a circle,
as if performing
some ancient ritual,
the mammals shade themselves
under a single acacia tree.
This is Savuti,
the elephant camp,
where elephants trumpet
half the night
just outside our tent;
hyenas laugh,
tearing at their prey.
I dream of Stonehenge
and then lie awake wondering
how many impala
will die before morning
on the savanna.


On Seeing Lions for the First Time

Darting Fishers