8 - 2019 | Anabezi
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August 2019

“As no man is born an artist, so no man is born an angler.” It’s alliterative, so it must be true, or so at least I reassure myself as I lose a fish for the nth time this afternoon… So quoth

Exhausted and all worn out from their playing, the little lion cubs collapse into a heap of oversized paws, twitching, tufted ears and snowy whiskers. John and I look across at each other, almost unable to believe this incredible chance

Crepuscular sheaves of shrivelight pierce the canopy of the leadwoods, littering the island floor with spashings and dashings of sun, mottled and sprottled like the spots of a leopard. It’s approaching noon and on the sand below stands a lone