The day starts
before the sun.
A knock, a flask of strong Kenyan coffee, and the Land Cruiser rolling out under a sky still full of stars. By the time the horizon turns to rose, you are already among them.
The officeBreakfast has
visitors.
Eggs on the fire, fresh mango, and a table set where the plains open up. Some mornings the elephants come down to the waterhole mid-omelette. Nobody has ever complained.
Regular guestThe heat writes
the schedule.
Midday belongs to the pool, the veranda and the siesta — the animals agree. The zebra file past the deck to drink; you watch from the water with the whole valley to yourself.
The residence poolThe light turns
to honey.
The afternoon drive is the photographers’ hour. Grass goes gold, dust hangs like smoke, and the cats wake up hungry. Your guide already knows where the brothers are.
The third sightingEngines off.
Corks out.
There is a termite mound we have been parking beside for eleven years. Gin goes in the glass, the sun goes into the Mara, and for twenty minutes nobody says anything worth repeating.
18:59 — the usual spot
Doctor’s ordersThe fire has the
last word.
Dinner ends where every good day here ends — around the fire, under a sky with no competition. The Milky Way does its thing; a buffalo grumbles somewhere in the dark. Tomorrow, we do it all again, differently.
21:12 — first log
The ceiling