The yawning plains of the honey haze Serengeti poured with stampedes of wild beasts. Watching, my heart raced as I peered from the neck of a Baobab Tree.

Kneeling, I could feel the rumblings of the stunning beasts. Their horns darting toward pools of water. But among these rolling beasts of horned muscle. Lay something unexpected, something I never thought I’d be witness to.

And as I knelt, crouched in swaying brush, I held my finger in a gentle hover, just above my camera’s shutter release. My eyes dilated to such a wild sight. A gripping exposure of earth.

A ferocious coming of animals. I’ll never forget, just before the blood was spilled upon the dusty plains. The sky filled with a glaze of tangerine as pillows of soft white sailed toward northern heights.

The sun, gleamed with such grace upon these golden lands, such beauty, yet, unexpected carnage was to be birthed in hail of hunger and the pattern of migration.

And as seconds passed, the once still silence accompanied by the singing of birds, was quickly smothered by the embrace of natures beautiful cruelty.

Caught with sight of such a drastic unfolding, I could not edge my finger to comply in want to capture this unraveling carnal bliss. The surreal awe had me frozen.

I watched the havoc, letting my mind meld to the moment into an imprint upon my senses; forever to be captured in nostalgic ecstasy.

Though savage blooming took place, and howls of dying mammals cried out. I could not advert my eyes.

Somehow, in all the chaos of survival, there was serenity, harmony in it all. The sweltering heat, I bared it no mind. Watching as beads of sweat curated their way passed my brow, falling trail to my cheeks and landing upon my camera.

And for what seemed only minutes, lasted twenty. Masses of prey scurried to escape a horrific fate. Shrieks of young echoed against the barren lands.

My heart twinged in fear for the young. But it was futile to feel as such. To even think to save any from such jaws of nature. It would surely blemish the natural.

Locked in a pace of fixed adrenaline, I kept watch, the blooming of this order of life. And without warning, from blades of waving blonde, came a hurling king.

A massive beast; a fine tuned machine. A mechanism of killing. A stalking commander rushed from the depth of the field.

And as it hurled itself into the air as if made of springs with little effort; its extended claws latched into its prey with ease.

Piercing the flesh of its victim it hung from its neck. Sinking its teeth inches into the artery of its meal. The horned beast fought with everything it had.

But the king gave it no opportunity to succeed. Alone, the prey squealed as it struggled to even breathe. It kicked its hind legs in frantic chance to escape.

But the prey was soon doomed. Its throat became squashed beneath the starving desire of the king. And as the beast began to tremble, its leg shivering, its lungs deflating; there arrived the few queens.

They darted from the shallow reaches of the grass. Gracefully and with great power, they leaped upon the dying beast.

Grabbing hold its rugged flesh. In only minutes time, came the last hollow cries of the weakened prey.

And though the horrors of nature unraveled like the chaos of war. I found myself enthralled at every moment. My heart rumbled about with such fright and excitement. Every motion, from the glittered skies of blue, to the clouds of disturbed earth had me at its beckoning.

It felt, as if I knew, as if a part of me understood the survival of these animals. A piece of me called out like a warrior in victory against a formidable foe.

And as they dragged their hunger to the ground. They feasted, giving no sympathy to their now fresh meal.

And as they tore through the creature, its lungs deflated one last time, as if in release of existence; as the sounds of raw meat was ripped from the neck to the hind. Sounds of breaking bones shuttered in the air.

But alas, my finger pressed ever so slowly, gently, granting press to the camera. Looking, I accepted the final moment of it all.

The king baring face of a crimson win. His queens feasting along side, a family of pride, a family dealt to the hands of nature…..

Fight, survive, or die.

Just a man that was once lost in the pursuit of understanding himself. I write short stories, poems, and motivational pieces. (Instagram @poemjunkybiffle)

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