Lions, Dung Beetles and Thunder
The sound of lion seems to come from the earth, from some place where stones are forged, and a from a time when stars and the blackness had not yet divorced.
Heard it twice tonight. Not more than 100 yards off, but who can tell? Low frequency sound travels like a sly snake, hugging the surface of the ground for the right opportunity to leap into your ear, or really, your heart, because you feel it, and it hurries your pulse, and reminds you of the rhythm that proceeds you, and will continue long after your pendulum halts it’s steady swing.
"Lion", I say to the night watchmen. He gets up and we both walk to the wide open entry in the stone walled, thatched roof cafeteria. Looking outward, the guard points and says, "He is on that side." What "that side" means in anyone’s guess. It is an expression they use in Zimbabwe. "Are you coming to this side? He is on that side." It can mean anything from a few yards to many kilometers. Based on the sound, I think the lion is at the turnoff, about 75 yards up the road. We listen intently, but only hear the calming abrasion of crickets seeking courtship, the buzz of dung beetles scenting tonight’s carbonaceous bounty, and a far off thunder, the lion of the ether, heralding the gift of moisture.
There is always something.