When the Day Grows Quiet

 As the Serengeti sun slips behind a curtain of golden clouds,

the great silence of the savannah begins to settle in.

High above, silhouetted against the evening sky,
marabou storks perch like ancient sentinels—
still, solemn, and strangely elegant.
Their long beaks and hunched shoulders speak not of haste,
but of patient watching, of time measured in wind and waiting.

Each branch carries a quiet guest.
They gather, not in song or chatter,
but in a fellowship of stillness.
An entire tree becomes a cathedral of rest,
its thin limbs reaching toward the heavens.

Some close their eyes,
others bow their heads
as if in prayer for the passing day.
There is no hurry here—only grace
in every fold of wing and curve of neck.

Below, the world hushes.
Even the wind seems to hold its breath.
And for a brief, beautiful moment—
the sky, the trees, and the birds
become one peaceful silhouette
drawn in charcoal across a fading canvas of dusk.