R took me on a wild safari the other day...we were very close to death. It was breath close and we imagined brushing by a bushbaby, an elephant calf and a cub. That may have actually happened, but in a Safari, such as we found ourselves cruising in and out of, my imagination got the better of me. Wild, wild, wilder, cried my heart while my mind searched for meaning within this meaningless ride. As the mindblowing matter got more out of hand, my index finger pressed my pulse to see if i was still alive. It felt like a living pulse. My ears were whistling with the wind, and as the whistling got louder and my ears flapped and clapped alternating between sounds and silence, i wished i were back home in my comfort zone. Safaris should be undertaken only when one is ready. I may have not protested at the time it was proposed, but i guess my whistle got me into trouble. So here we were on a Whister's Safari, be it the wind whistling, the Catmewl, R's mouth or mine- the whistles were unmistakable and so was the Safari, a mistake. I needed to run.
To be contd...
