It’s Sunday morning..

This morning he couldn’t even see the water, only the smell of stale moss and drying animal dung provided any evidence that water was nearby. If there was even a slight southern breeze, the air would instead smell of the fragrant orchids and cycads that decorate this part of the bush in late spring. Where are the sounds that greet him every morning? The frogs, the crickets, even distant animal cries. It’s 5:00am and nothing. He found himself surrounded by silence. As warm as it is, he almost felt a chill. Strange. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching him from the darkness. Even though the deck where he stood was off the second floor of the lodge, he thought it best to finish his coffee inside. 




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