THE SITUATION OF THE MATING GIRAFFES

 FROM MY CHAIR ON THE VERANDAH

It is raining. The thunder has been declaring it's intention for a few hours now, but both myself and the animals out on the plain had given up believing the thunder. It has not rained sine the beginning of last month. But now it rains.

I know because the herds of black wildebeests, impalas and giraffe begin running. I cannot hear the rain falling out here on the savannah under the thick thatch roof where I sit. It falls silently. The hills in the distance become mist grey. The many animals scatter and disappear. All except for two giraffes. Blakey, the almost white female and The Dark Bull. 

She moves in a silent and graceful evasion. He mirrors her every move. Step for step, neck sway for neck sway. I am watching from beyond an unseen window, a scene inside its own quietly private veil. Wisps of water mist over me where I sit on the verandah. I remain in a separate dimension, unseen and uncomprehended, unimportant to the mating dancers.

Now she silently extends herself into a slow motion gallop, white limbs carrying her without apparent effort. Moving seamlessly across the savannah. In tandem, he follows. 

Now she stops. 

There every fibre, every flex and tension of neck and limb is synchronized. My mind wants to pull a curtain of human understanding down upon them. To put them onto a stage in which I see them in the light of human interactions. So I stand up and leave them.