They congregate at the waterhole
The young; the old; the grey; the brown
Each overcoming their fears
To slake their thirst in a dry land.
Warily they move forward,
The pressure from the one behind
Urging them forward into vulnerability
Afraid to miss their place in the line
To be overtaken by the lesser
In the pecking order.
Still they move forward
Treading carefully where they can
Listening for something not quite right
For the bark of warning and the grunt
Of the elders, pushing them forward
Into the mud, where hooves will be sucked down
Sucked into the swamp
That surrounds the waterhole
Sucked and stuck so that the lions will
Be bound to have a meal.
Luckily today there is no kill
Luckily today lions already had their fill
Luckily today they lived all day.
But what about tomorrow?
Words and photo copyright Englepip©