Comparing Solo, Guided and Self-guided riding in Europe - article in Common Tread Blog

Link to article published September 2024

 

Figueres, Spain

Rest day by the pool, Lošinj Island Island Croatia

Dolomites, Italy

View from Aristi, Greece

Sightseeing stop, Paleokarya , Greece

DREAMSCAPE

You came to me again
last night while I slept
fanning flames of wonder

what do you want I asked
you don’t speak
just hover
warming me with a glow
of comfort and kindness
and then you are gone
I am left to ponder

In the morning light
I watch the clouds
for signs

Is that your trail
the smoky arc that loops
with perfect symmetry
amongst the clouds
that shimmers while I watch
then disappears, like you?

Tonight, I will look for you
in my dreamscape
ready to be guided
ready to follow your lead

Will you let me fly with you?
Will you lift me
above the daily grind
beyond the stress of doubt
that hobbles my momentum
that clouds my judgement?

I wait through daylight hours
and watch the sun dip
coloring the sky with radiance
and then I see your wings
brilliant in the setting sun
fanning flames
that send a spark of wisdom
in that instant
I get your message

open your eyes
see the good that surrounds you
believe in yourself

I am no longer left to wonder

You will be my guide to
abandon self-doubt
to find my inner strength
that will break my bonds
of indecision.

And when I am ready
you will let me fly with you.

                                                 

 

Published in Dragon Dreams Anthology - Storm Dragon Publishing. September 22, 2024

THE EYE OF RA

 

The mighty Ra, swallowed by Nut

slips fiery red beneath the western horizon

for the perilous journey through the night.

The sun god, Ra, was in a bad mood when he settled into the solar barque that would transport him through the underworld toward the dawn and another day of sunlight. This was a cycle repeated over and over again, and the nightly journey was full of strife and anxiety as he and his companions battled to keep the malevolent demon Apep at bay. The drone of rhythmic chanting and magic spells helped to protect them, while the war god Set provided defense in the prow of the barque. If Apep succeeded in his mission to keep Ra and the souls of the deceased from traversing the underworld to reach the Field of Reeds, chaos, destruction and darkness would descend. 

As if it wasn’t enough to battle this monster, Ra now had to worry about the humans who were plotting his overthrow. 

“Who do they think they are?” grumped Ra, to the council of the gods. “They break the laws and make fun of me. Don’t they understand that it was I, the almighty Ra, who brought order to the waters of chaos creating everything they hold dear, the land, the river, the very gods they worship? What shall I do? What shall I do?” he shouted.

“Calm yourself, my lord,” said the gentle goddess Nephthys. “Soon it will be time for you to cast your glorious light on the land again. The humans will wake to your warm sunshine, the crops will grow, the cattle will feed, the land will prosper. They are smart. Surely, they will understand that without you they will starve, that they will live in perpetual darkness.”

“Smart! Humph. Why did we gift them with this glorious life? Such ungrateful creatures.” 

“Agreed, my dear father,” said Shu and Tefnut in unison. 

Set pounded his scepter and spoke up loudly. “There is only one thing to do. Smite them.  Destroy them all. What use are they to us anyway?”

“Well, for one thing, they worship us. They also offer delicious treats, lovely incense and sing beautiful incantations in our temples,” said the goddess, Isis. 

“Set is right,” said Horus, for once agreeing with his uncle. “Humans should be annihilated. And I know exactly how it can be done. Summon the Eye of Ra.” Horus looked fondly at his wife, the goddess Hathor, in whom, below the surface of her fun, sensual nature, lurked other incarnations, including the violent goddess Sekhmet. 

Ra was convinced. “Dismissed, all of you except for you dear Hathor. Set, get back to the prow. The night is not yet done.”

Set was happy to get back to his role of defender. He was in the mood for a good fight. His fierce battle with Apep that night caused the underworld to tremble and the sky to boom with thunder and lightning. 

“My dear Hathor I endow you, as the Eye of Ra, with my powers,” said Ra. “I bid you when my morning light wakens the land, go out and destroy humanity.” 

As ordered, Hathor waited for daylight and transformed into her aspect of the goddess Sekhmet. Her cow horns and beaded dress disappeared as she assumed the form of a lion-headed woman.  With a mighty roar, she flexed her sharpened nails and descended in blood-thirsty lust on the unsuspecting mortals. All day she rampaged through the land, smiting, biting, sucking blood. Shocked by the violence of the assault, Ra called her, begging her to stop, but she ignored him and continued the savagery. Eventually, exhausted and sated, she fell into a deep sleep.

Ra was devastated by the horrific destruction that he had witnessed. “What have I done?” he wailed. “Humans are our partners. We strive every day to bring them joy and prosperity, not to destroy them. Now that we have evoked the bloodthirsty nature of Sekhmet, how will we stop her? We need to save those that are left.”

The council of gods quickly assembled to form a plan. They sent emissaries with urgent haste to fetch large quantities of red ochre. This was pounded into beer mash until 7,000 jugs of beer were dyed deep red. Ra ordered the blood-red beer to be poured onto the fields near where Sekhmet was snoring. When she awoke in the morning, thinking that the fields were awash in blood, she greedily lapped up gallons of intoxicating red beer, licking her whiskers in delight. She slurped and drank until she was so drunk that she passed out, curled up like a kitten against a temple wall. 

After a long, peaceful sleep, she woke with the gentle rays of Ra’s sunlight caressing her face and was magically transformed back into the form of Hathor.  The memory of her onslaught haunted her like a dark shadow. “My father Ra, what have I done?” she called in distress.

Ra, on his journey through the sky, answered. “Don’t blame yourself my dear one. It was Sekhmet that wreaked havoc, not you, and it was done on the order of your fellow gods. We have rescinded the order – never to be repeated. Remember your true aspect. You are the beloved Hathor, goddess of beauty, music and dancing, motherhood and love.”

Hathor gratefully accepted Ra’s words and at that moment she pledged never again to cause harm to humanity, but only to bring joy. Her good works can be seen everywhere, even today. And just for fun, she instituted the annual Festival of Drunkenness, a once-a-year indulgence of drink and foolishness. 

Ra continues to sail through the sky each day and brave the perilous journey through the underworld at night. He observes human behavior with a mixture of joy and despair but is no longer driven to interfere in human affairs. 

There are plenty of other forces intent on playing that role. 

Published in Quillkeepers Press Mythos and Lore: Anthology of Authors, April 2024

A CHERUB'S TALE - variation

A CHERUB'S TALE

Did you hear about the cherub who lost her wings

playing some games amongst other things

like chasing through rainbows

dancing with butterflies and crows

She hit an archangel with a halo toss

which ended up being a bit of a loss

for her wings were clipped short

which meant, so it said in the report,

that she got a demotion though

some might see it a promotion.

She was sent down to earth

to celebrate her birth.

Born with cute dimples and a mischievous grin

from the start she fitted right in.

With time she grew up, beautiful and bright

still dances with butterflies when they take flight.

So last laugh’s on the archangel way up high

Cherubs don’t need wings in order to fly 

Published in Quillkeepers Press Mythos and Lore - Anthology of Authors, April 2024

 

Building a custom bike hauler and camper for two

Published in Common Tread Online Motorcycle Blog- December 21, 2023

Trailer build article link

Links to my articles posted on Common Tread Motorcycle Blog

Corsica, Sardinia, Sicily: Highlights of a European bucket-list motorcycle tour 

https://www.revzilla.com/common-tread/corsica-sardinia-sicily-highlights-of-a-european-bucket-list-motorcycle-tour

Riding dirt bikes in El Gouna Egypt

  https://www.revzilla.com/common-tread/building-a-custom-bike-hauler-and-camper-for-two

CONVERSATIONS WITH ELEPHANTS

The Maramba River flows into the Mighty Zambezi River about four kilometres from Victoria Falls. Where we are sitting on the deck of the lodge restaurant, the river is about thirty feet wide and moving sluggishly. We have only been in the country for four hours but already we are immersed in the untamed nature of Africa.

In the shallow water there is a display of wildlife; long legged birds stalk the pools, a crocodile lazes half out of the water, a large lizard-like creature, a legavaan, lurks on the muddy shore. We have a clear view across the river of the bush which is dense except for a slight opening where sun filters through. As I watch, the light fades and the shade thickens. It forms a shape. Like magic, an elephant materializes out of the shadows. It lumbers forward, trunk
swaying gently, heading for a drink at the river’s edge. Before dipping its trunk into the water, it stops, ears alert, aware of the life forms across the river. Its eyes are small for its bulk, but they seem focussed directly on me.

The elephant doesn’t need words to communicate. I get the message clearly. “I am just here for a drink. I won’t bother you if you don’t bother me. Understood?”

“Understood,” I message back silently.

“You do know that I am a mighty, powerful beast and I could easily cross this puny water and stomp on you?”

“Yes, that’s clear.” 

“Good. Let’s not make that happen. Welcome to my land. Have a good stay.”

A group of guests has gathered to watch the elephant as it drinks and squirts water over its head. And then it vanishes. One moment it’s a large looming presence, the next, it is gone.

“What a good omen,” I tell Peter. “The elephant has given us its blessing to enjoy our time here.”

“That’s reassuring,” he says with utmost sincerity.

It is a good start to our planned ten days of game viewing in Zambia. Tomorrow we will visit the legendary Victoria Falls and take a boat ride on the Zambezi River.

A cluster of blue taxis is parked on the main street of the bustling town of Livingston. Drivers vie for our attention. We choose Mombi, partly because of his engaging smile but mostly because he offers the lowest fare. He speaks good English and chatters as he drives. When we ask, he explains that the taxis coming the other way are flashing their lights to let him know there is a checkpoint ahead.

“What does that mean?” Peter asks.

“Well, it means that they’re checking licences. Taxis need a special licence to drive passengers to the Falls.”

“And do you have one?”

“No sir. I don’t. But don’t worry, it will be okay.” He drives in silence for a while then, “Do you drive stick shift, sir?”

“Yes, of course,” says Peter.

“Well, then sir, I will stop before the checkpoint and you can drive through it. I will walk and meet you at the other side.”

I am the one who reacts to this, imagining all kinds of bad outcomes to this plan. “No, Mombi. We can’t do that. Stop here and we’ll walk the rest of the way.”

“Absolutely not, lady. There are elephants in the bush here. Elephants can be very dangerous. I can’t let you walk.”

I want to tell him that we have a pact with an elephant. But that sounds ridiculous even to me.

“Okay, okay. I know what we’ll do. I’ll tell them at the checkpoint that you are friends of my boss and that he asked me to drive you.”

“Do you think that will work?”

“For sure sir. I will give them the phone number of my boss, Mr. Maboto, and they can call and ask him.”

“Is that really your boss?”

“No sir. My good friend. But don’t worry. It will be fine.”

And indeed, after some back-and-forth dialogue and a phone call to Mombi’s “boss”, it is fine. We clear the checkpoint. Mombi cheerfully tours us around the visitors’ centre, showing us the best souvenir vendors and points the way to the Falls View walk. It is busy with many families, dressed in their finest, enjoying a Sunday outing. I remember to ask permission before snapping photos of a particularly splendidly dressed group of women and their children. They pose, proud as peacocks in their glorious colours.

On the path to the viewing platform, monkeys chatter in the trees, swinging amongst the branches and occasionally jumping down to check out the tourists. An inquisitive baby monkey takes a fancy to Peter and tries to climb up his leg. Monkeys look cute, but they can bite and are usually infested with flees and mites, so I clap my hands and say “Scat.” This is enough to send the young one scurrying up a tree in search of its mother. Clinging to her back, he looks down at us with soulful eyes. I imagine the mother consoling her baby, “Don’t worry about the two-legged apes. They are rude sometimes, but they leave us nice snacks.”

This is the dry season, so the grand Victoria Falls is not quite the thunderous roar that we have seen in photos, but impressive nonetheless. It has been months since the last rains and the torrent of water has been reduced to a series of smaller falls, flowing from the Zambezi River, over a basalt plateau stretching almost a mile through rugged rock gorges which rise high above the churning water.  A rainbow spans from shore to shore, connecting the two countries, Zambia to Zimbabwe.  On the plateau, the low water has exposed pools and rocks. And here and there, we see people walking, amongst the streams, treading cautiously towards the precipice. This looks like something we should check out. When we make our way, past the visitors’ centre, we find that there is nothing stopping us, no barrier to the river. But very soon a young guy, wearing a Sun Hotel shirt approaches us.

“Hello, my name is Anote. I’m a guide from the hotel,” he says politely. “It’s dangerous to walk along the river on your own. Would you like me to lead you?”

Why not? We know we’ll have to tip him but it seems like a better option than making a misstep that could lead us tumbling hundreds of metres over the edge. The young man has the grace of a gazelle as he steers us over rocks, fording streams, threading our way through the water course. Sometimes he takes my hand to guide me over tricky spots where the water flows fast between the uneven stones. We walk beside deep pools where local lads are splashing in the water. Anote doesn’t recommend this. There may be crocodiles lurking. We can feel the mist of the falls when we stop close to the edge where the water cascades to the river below. I am awed to be so close to the falls and marvel at the fact that in a month, when the rains come, if we were standing here, we’d be swept away in a raging torrent.

The tour ends at the hotel entrance. The sun is at its peak and as they say, only mad dogs and stupid tourists stay out in the midday sun. I am wilting and my water bottle is empty. The fee that our guide asks is more than we anticipated but to walk at the edge of Victoria Falls, to stand at the precipice and look 300 feet down to the swirling river below, has been so worth it. We pay up and are politely reminded to add a tip. Which we do. The young man doesn’t follow us onto the hotel grounds and I very much doubt whether he has any relationship with the establishment.       It is bliss to sit under the shade of the Mopane trees beside the pool, quenching our thirst with Mosi beer and eating a leisurely meal until it’s time for our sunset cruise.

We have booked on one of the smaller tour boats, a jet boat that can maneuver over the rapids and close to the shore where we get amazing close-ups of wildlife. Herds of elephants with young in tow, half submerged hippos displaying their cavernous yawning jaws and crocodiles keep us company along the shoreline. Colourful birds are abundant, darting over the water and perched like decorations in the trees on the river banks.

The crew offers us drinks and it feels grand to be sipping G & T’s while motoring up the Zambezi River. The plan is to stop at an island for a picnic, but as we approach, a large family of elephants emerges from the far shore and crosses in front of us, clambering up the banks of the island.

“Sorry, folks,” the skipper announces, “the elephants have right of way. We’ll have to picnic aboard.” No one disagrees.

I won’t bother you if you don’t bother me, was my pact with the elephant.

The following day we leave on a local bus for Lusaka to meet our friend and travel companion, Joe, for rest of our journey to a safari camp. The projected four-hour bus ride from Livingston to Lusaka, takes six and a half hours. Twice the bus is stopped at checkpoints by armed guards that search the luggage compartment under the bus. Looking for stowaways, we are told. No one is found hiding amongst the bags and eventually we continue on our journey.

We are the only white faces and the only tourists aboard. The passengers are curious and friendly. At a road side stop, they helpfully explain how to find the bathrooms and the snack shop. Most of them return aboard with baskets of fried chicken, filling the bus with a delicious aroma. We have a bag of crisps and a couple of cokes.

The countryside changes from dry veld to planted fields. Rural villages eventually give way to urban sprawl. The bus rattles along at an alarming pace, making up for lost time at the earlier check points.

Our friend Joe and his companion Vernon have waited at the bus terminal for hours and are immensely relieved to see us.  We are whisked to Vernon’s house where a welcome supper is ready for us.

Vernon loans us a four-wheel drive Toyota HiAce for the bush part of our trip in the South Luangwa Valley. In addition to our personal luggage, we load the van with plenty of spare petrol, spare tires and bottled water. Not enough water. You can never carry enough water when you’re heading into the African bush. Before we leave, we go to an ATM to stock up on cash. The Zambia currency has become so devalued, that our wallets are stuffed to overflowing with Kwachas, since we will need cash for many of our expenses on the trip.

It takes most of the day, with only a short stop for lunch to get to our first overnight accommodation. I pay a few Kwachas to use the squat toilet behind the restaurant, pleased at how clean it is. Early into the ride, we discover that with the air conditioner running, the vehicle looses significant power, so we drive with open windows trying to make the most of the dusty breeze. When we stop to stretch our legs, a group of children appears out of nowhere. They gather around us and eye the apples we are eating. We have nothing else to give them, so we hand over half eaten apple cores which they grab eagerly. There are more children than apple cores and we leave them squabbling over the poor spoils.

After the dust and heat of the road, Mama Rula’s Camp on the outskirts of Chipata, is a welcome oasis with shady trees and a garden surrounding a small pool. The rooms are basic but clean and comfy. The bar is the social centre, where we eat, drink and exchange stories with other travellers.

Early in the morning we are back on the road following country roads that have more pot holes than road surface. Peter navigates the smoothest course he can between the many obstacles including cyclists balancing extraordinarily large loads on their bikes, pedestrians and wandering goats. Pedestrians, who seem to walk many miles from village to village, politely step to the side of the road as we go by and wave enthusiastically.

At our lunch stop in a small village we pick up a hitch hiker who travels with us for about 20 kilometers. He explains that he is a minister of the church traveling to different rural congregations. As we drive through a rural landscape, he tells us a bit about the subsistence farmers who eke out a living on small plots of land, growing crops like maize and sorghum, often walking long distances to fetch water. It is a hard life.  When we come across a series of large branches placed strategically as a rudimentary road block, he urges Peter not to stop. “If you stop, you will be asked to pay a tax. These people aren’t legitimate.” he says. “You are already paying a road tax when you buy petrol.” Lucky that he warned us. On our journey we successfully by-pass several of these road blocks.

The tsetse fly check point is a different matter and can’t be ignored. We wait while the guards, rifles at hand, inspect the vehicle for evidence of these nasty pests. Tsetse flies are a terrible problem in this part of the world and can cause serious illness in animals and humans, including sleeping sickness. The inspection is very quick; just a swipe of some kind of wand around the windows and sun visors and we are given the thumbs up and sent on our way.

We arrive at Flat Dogs Camp, close to the entrance of the South Luangwa National Park in time for an early dinner. Our accommodations are safari tents, with open-air ensuite bathrooms which includes a flush toilet, surrounded by eight-foot walls made from intricately woven reeds. As we later find out, reed walls, without roofs, are no deterrent to inquisitive monkeys. An ingenious system of boilers heated by a slow burning fire, provides hot water for showers. The beds are quite luxurious, with puffy pillows and protected by draped mosquito nets. This is definitely comes under the heading of glamping.

At night after supper, we sit at the picnic table drinking scotch whisky outside our tent and listen to the night noises as the cicadas, crickets and frogs tune up. Joe is familiar with these sounds. This is his happy place and partly why we are taking this journey into the wild. He recognises the bark of a baboon and the grunt of a hippo. He leans back, breathes in deeply savouring the smell of African bush. Peter and I are so happy to see the contented look on his face. It was in Zambia many years ago that he married the only love of his life. Sadly, she passed away ten years ago. Now all he has left are memories and the best of these are from the times they spent in the African bush together. This may be Joe’s last visit to Zambia and we are so pleased to have made his journey of nostalgia possible and to share it with him.

In the dark we hear rustling sounds as a hippo plods up the path from the river to feast on the fruit of the trees that shade our tent. Hippos feed on land but to protect their sun-sensitive hides, they only emerge from the water in the evening. They follow the same paths each day to their feeding grounds. The leaves and fruit of the Mopane trees that are plentiful in the camp, are favourites. Rule number one; never get between a hippo and the river. We have been sternly warned at check-in not to wander around the camp on our own at night. From time to time, the camp guard, armed only with a flashlight, comes by to check on us and shines his light at the hippo, apparently to ensure it keeps its distance. Snug in bed, we drift off to sleep with the sound of hippos munching a few feet away, comforted to know that we have a guard with his flashlight to keep us safe.

The next few days fall into a pattern.  Up at 5 a.m. for a snack and a quick cup of coffee before the combination morning walk and drive. 10.am. breakfast in the open-air dining room is followed by a swim and a rest before lunch. After lunch, another swim, and a short nap before the 4 p.m. game drive. The sun sets promptly at 6 p.m. and we stop for a sundowner, beer or soft drinks, beside the river. The next two hours are night viewing, with a spotlight mounted on the Land Cruiser. Dinner is a smaller meal after the game drive at 8 p.m. before our nightly hippo vigil outside our tent.

The game viewing is beyond expectations. When we are in the open topped Land Cruiser, the animals seem oblivious to us. Groups of elephants casually cross our path. Zebras graze in herds and giraffes stretch their necks to reach the leaves on tall trees. Crocodiles and birds crowd the river banks. There are buck and antelope of every kind. We encounter monkeys and troops of baboons. 

We have a rare leopard siting. The guide says it’s a young leopard, still learning to hunt. The puku that it’s stalking darts away which sets off a chain reaction of startled animals. The herd of pukus scatters. The leopard seems to give up and climbs a tree where it drapes itself artfully over a branch and watches us. 

When we stop at the river bank for the morning tea break, flocks of colourful carmine bee eaters flutter busily around their nests in the muddy river banks. Large crocodiles lie on the shore with mouths agape, as still as logs. One morning we see a couple of crocs wrestling over a half- submerged buffalo. Further downstream, a herd of buffalo crosses in the shallow water, while a kingfisher entertains us, diving into the river, emerging with a large fish in its beak which it proceeds to slap against a tree branch. I feel as if I am part of a National Geographic movie shoot.

After dark, a new world opens up. We are introduced to nocturnal cats and scavenging hyenas. Lions, that lie around sleepily during the day, are on the prowl at night. We follow a male lion as he tags along behind the females, who work as a team to track their prey and make the kill. The male then saunters in for the first bite.

One night we come across the sad sight of seven buffalo that have become stuck in a deep muddy pond. The lions have already feasted. The vultures are now at work and hyenas slink around waiting their turn. Despite being partially ravaged, some of the buffalo are still alive, making low moans of pain, their tails twitching. It’s hard to watch, but our guide reminds us that this it is all part of the balance of nature, it’s the way of the wild.

Not far away, the lions have gathered in the scruffy vegetation beside an open plain. When we get there, they are in stalking position and are heading towards a family of elephants. The bull elephant catches their scent and puts out an alert. The young ones are herded protectively together. The elephants flap their ears and dust rises as they stamp their feet. The bull trumpets loudly and the charge begins. The herd thunders towards the lions. It doesn’t last long. The lions turn tail and run.

The guide explains. “If they were really hungry, the lions wouldn’t have given up so easily.” He tells us, that when they work as a team, lions are the only animals that can take down an elephant. I can’t help but cheer for the elephants. How is it that these hulking beasts with their wrinkled grey hides and beady eyes have become so dear to me?

The morning walks are optional. Not everyone wants to walk amongst wild animals, but for Peter and I, these are our favourite safari moments. Joe, with his bad knees, can no longer take part in the game walks, but he eagerly waits for the reports of our close-up encounters.

Each morning our guide, Jackson, drives us to a different starting point. When the Land Cruiser is parked, we head out into the bush. On our last morning at the camp Peter and I are the only guests. Led by Jackson and accompanied by a scout with a rifle, we head to a waterhole where we quietly watch zebra, giraffes and impala having their morning drink. As we walk along the trail, the giraffes trail along, keeping pace with us, their heads peeping above the tall bushes. It feels as if we have an honour guard. When we come to a spot where a giraffe stands in the middle of the path, blocking our way, we wait patiently until it decides to move along. Giraffes look so velvety soft with their big melting eyes and long-egged ambling gait, they seem like gentle giants. “Don’t be fooled by how docile they look,” Jackson warns us, “a kick from one of those long legs can kill a lion.”

We wander onto a vast expanse of dry river bed following animal prints in the mud. Jackson identifies the foot prints of different animals. “Look,” he says “a hyena came this way. And there are warthog prints. Plenty of buffalo and elephants too.” 

We are examining an intricate spider web, woven like a net across a deep imprint, when the scout looks up and says quietly, “Elephants.” And there they are, a family with several young. Too close for comfort. They have snuck up on us right here in the middle of an open plain, without making a sound.

The scout takes charge, rifle at the ready. “Walk backwards, slowly.”

The elephants are focussed on us. Ears flapping. The bull stamps his foot. In silence we continue our retreat. Step by step, so slowly, it’s like torture. For a moment I have a flash of panic. How effective can one rifle be against a herd of elephants?

Then, a perceptible change. It seems we have retreated a safe distance. The bull turns away and lumbers off to the far bank. The rest of the herd follows, calves scampering alongside their mothers. We stand quietly for a few moments to take stock. Apart for some rattled nerves, we’re fine, grateful that we escaped being trampled and still on an adrenalin high, thankful for the raw experience. Again, we are reminded, these are wild animals, there are no fences between us. This is not a zoo.

I take time to savour this moment; to appreciate what a privilege it has been to have conversations with elephants, to walk with giraffes, hobnob with hippos; to witness the private lives of animals in the wild. I send a silent message of gratitude to the elephant that we encountered on the first day.

“Now,” says our guide cheerfully, “It’s time for tea.” And we head back to the Land Cruiser where the thermos of hot tea is waiting.

We’ll have a good story to share with Joe when we get back to the camp.

 

Published in BOTANY OF GAIA: A nature inspired anthology compiled by Quillkeepers Press