Aquila flies over the desiccated veld, periodically checking on the hunters who march like ants across the dry savanna beneath his substantial eagle wings. Owab is the youngest of the band; it is to him that Aquila carries the mystical connection.
Now in early autumn, the earth still waits for the rains. The ground is dry and the game has scattered. They travel east to the purple mountains in search of the great beast who, with a nod of his gracious head, will call the storm clouds.
Over the parched soil
the eagle leads us onward
seeking the Rain Bull.
Photo by Nigel Whitehead, on-safari.co.za
Written in response to two challenges:
I also set myself the additional challenges of confining my piece to 100 words exactly and writing in the haibun form. Just for fun!