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Down your streets and cry
Hey, it's me, I'm dynamite
And I don't know why
Always trying to get somewhere. Always the next step, the progression is slow yet, in the end, you are there .
On the the African Savannah where the giraffes wander free, tall and odd, standing out on the wide flat landscape. But here, further up, further north, the giraffe takes on a rather different role...
It was always an ambition to witness those odd, leggy beasts in there own environment. How strange an animal they seem to me. And here I am in a mountainous place where the original giraffe, the lesser known but more incredible mountain giraffe, wanders hidden in their rocky precipitous vanguard.
Much darker in colour; a near black and mid gray, and their monstrous size, a marvel.
Visible only in certain light from particular angles the laconic wonderbeasts merge into their mountainous home like a stick insect on a stick. Occasionally, when from a distance they break the horizon, their great heads and necks can be witnessed fleetingly, their incredible camouflage rendering their bodies all but invisible.
Yes, up there above me I gaze expectantly in the hope of a glimpse. My sleep is disturbed by the wondrous possibilities. I stay in bed late, in the hope of even a dream vision of the fantastic mountain beasts.
And on we go. to the sea. to the hippy enclave hangout. the young travellers in their dopey glory. Fifty years after the fact and still they wander in their hazey dream world.
Blank Blank. the world is blank. it's empty of all obvious signs of life and the lights are going out. the warmth is dissipating. The good days are gone - and the bad, they are gone. We are left with days. just days. cold cruel empty days where only night divides the monotony and that too, soon becomes part and parcel of the time march to... to nowhere. to an end. infinity is now and yesterday. Forever has gone, and in it's place is dried out crumbs of a bitter tasting past. It's a good day to walk along a river bank with sun pouring over the flowing cool water. Fish become birds with birds taking to the water. Fish nest high and I think I want to die.. the trees; unconcerned.
The story goes the story goes,
attention
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