Shadows of the undergrowth, full of murk, full of mystery. Witch-light creeps deep to reveal its tapestry. My pen like a wand that yields infinite imagery, of silver-lit corridors and moonlit trickery. Giants walk hidden with the powers of this wizardry, I hold the torch of time so stand next to me and feel the weight of a thousand tusks buried in history. .
Shadows of the past, like whispers in the wind, legends that have passed, may the birds of life sing. .
Here’s a shot of Bella, one of my favourite tigresses. She was old and it’s been many months since we’ve seen her. Something tells me I won’t see her again, but the memories of her shall forever be etched in this forest and my mind. .