The crickets are on self-appointed metronome duty and I marvel as they never miss a beat. The night jar calls out over the quiet bush and as if on cue, the hyena sings out a mournful ballad. A fitting silence follows, while even the crickets take a pause to consider the weight of the hyena’s tale. Softly a cricket resumes a gentle beat and as others join him, a deep, bone-chilling, yet warm toned rumble emanates from the king of the jungle himself and the chorus reaches its crescendo… This is the night symphony of the African Bush – Tonight I have enjoyed its melody well past midnight and consider the time well spent – for I am convinced that there is no symphony quite like it anywhere else in the world, and as I write this the owl hoots softly in agreement. At last it is bedtime.
- Perfect Place for an Ambush
- That Sinking Monday Feeling