I will stand in a regal position with my elephant gun cocked, Finger resting firmly on the trigger. Will I dress as an Indian war leader? Will I choose to look like a gentleman? Or will my attire consist of camouflage paint and steel toed boots that walk with a purpose? It may change daily, but I still possess the same desire inside- To be one with this habitat so intriguing, so mysterious and concealed.
The rivers call my name. As I paddle my silver bullet canoe into the abyssal waters ebbing and bending around my streamline vessel, The water calms at my own will in a passive manner much like the coo of a dove
The trees know my presence -Such a command I boast- They know to bow at my arrival and whistle their harmonious flutters. The babies cower at the sight of my polished machete. The mothers stiffen when I equip it with a cool hand.
I am Simba. I am ruler. Africa, Asia, India, I own this land as my own, And I understand it is needy. I care for it in sickness, I check its fever regularly, I mother every animal, every bush, And in return they signal their respect.
As the day ends, the sun sings "good night" and the moon chimes in with a "good morning". I watch as the fish jump from the waters to catch their dinner airborne, And the bats chirp above me while my campfire crackles in response. I watch the stars mirror themselves onto the water, yearning to be remembered as something great.
A day of accomplishment achieved. I am a real woman, I am a safari woman.