William Barnhill

" I have come " cried the wind, squabbling with acacia and bush;
An old argument for sure, seldom settled in a season;
Measured by twisted branches and tattered grass;
Marked by waning mud choked pools of thirsty water baking in the equatorial
sun.
Boundless expanses limited only by the eye's ability to see;
Trail away to the four corners of these vast open spaces.
Endless throngs of creatures weave through a sea of grass;
Courting life and death by every water hole, behind every tree and beside every
trail.
Such is the way of this great place, equalizer of everything.
Giving all that can be expected;
Taking all that is weak;
But for the hand of man, throwing back all things that dare to change her.
So it is here that life is realized in its purest state;
Moving forward as one wave;
Rolling onward millennia after millennia.
Though bits and pieces may pass into the big finality;
The wave rolls onward like these endless plains;
Changing only with the rain that brings the grass to feed the new born;
Adorning the acacia's thorny clutch with flowers.

Black clouds gather in the distance;
Hinting of an unusual event on which all life here depends;
For within the mist of this profusion there is a balance;
So precariously placed upon the edge of existence;
Even the best prepared, if not careful, might fade across the line of extinction.

Silhouettes of grazing gazelle and zebra float on the horizon;
Dancing on the shimmering heat waves pulsating up from scorched ground.
Vultures lose a battle over a wildebeest's dried remains;
The matriarch gathers up the bony carcass;
Bolting with gargling laughing barks
She runs with her pack for the shadowy cover of the bush.
Deep groaning roars repeat from all quarters;
Custodians of the plain declare their right and territory;
Waiting out the heat until by cover of darkness, then to cull the sick and
unsuspecting.

On high rocks vantage a Cheetah surveys his possibilities;
Looking for any sign of weakness or lack of attention;
That might possibly turn the race in his favor.
Carefully dulling out energy for each hunt;
Measuring every run and pounce;
Knowing full well the rule;
Expending more than the worth of the take will hasten the final hunt.

Hoof marks, dried rock hard into the shattered earth;
Receive the first drops of heaven's blessing.
Smell of moisture and wet earth excites the throngs;
A celebration is eminent.
Mother leopard is vigilant;
Lying prone upon her thorny perch;
Watching time passing out of recollection;
Beating slowly like a worrier's drum;
Counting to the cadence of the Massi spirits passing on the torment.

An ocean of amber grass blades twist and bend in the altercation;
Stork and jackal choose no side;
They know that the elements are the life and breathe of this, the great
congregation;
One brings the rain while the other gives food and shelter.

A male baboon looks to the clouds above;
Closing his eyes he licks the air;
Scratching his chest he ambles to the troop;
Giving way begrudgingly to the passage of gray giants;
Trumpeting bursts of glee rise above the thundering din of the storm.
"I have come", cried the wind, passing through rift and mountain;
Beyond the sacred valleys, above every herd, pride, nest and burrow;
Bringing the moisture that will renew these grasses plains;
Sustaining these great creatures, this great land, this congregation.