A day of dust, a storm at three, and giraffe like slow punctuation.
We crossed into the Serengeti on a road that was mostly suggestion. Clouds built over the kopjes as if they had an appointment. By afternoon the light had gone theatrical — the kind photographers wait a season for and then miss because they were changing a lens.
Following weather, not animals
The herds were a rumour to the west. We followed thunder instead and found lion under an acacia, bored as royalty. The tracker named the weather in Kiswahili and English in the same breath.
Night: a sky so thick with stars it felt overcrowded. I slept with the flap open and woke to hyena, which is a sound you stop translating after the second night.
Field audio