A sunset trails
between the
trees as we
load up
to ride into
the bush,
the place
which houses
many local
stars of fashion,
some with tusks
and ivory,
some with stripes
and hoofs,
some with tall
necks and big eyes,
some with funny
names like
and then there
are the cheetah
who fly past
us, and the
monkeys that
play with our
heads as they
swing from
the trees,
our guide commands
attention by
shouting loudly
to stay in the
bus, but not us,
we squirm and
pitch back and
forth, cameras
clicking, eyes wide,
no place to hide
not that you would
want to,
it’s just too cool
for words, this camp
we return to,
lit with candles
and a feast for the
eyes and empty
bellies, drink for
the thirsty
laughter for
the hungry souls,
wedding plans
and silly jokes
while native
costumes are
presented to the
white guests,
perhaps we will
not be so very
obvious now,
but they don’t care
they love us anyway,
and what can you
say, but love you back
while the crocodiles
slither past in the
waters of Africa,
kings in the country
of the wild animals,
we watch in awe
singing as we depart,
disappearing into
the night.



©J.W.WINSLOW 2/1/10

Big Sur
lived up to
its reputation
beaming out
from under
a silky mist
that hung over
the coast,
upon the first
whiff of trees
and forest,
the mood
went to sunny
and stayed
perhaps what
they call
Chamber of
weather, but
around here
we call it
for the locals,
one of those
rare times
when nobody
else has the
same idea
of sneaking
away to play,
leaving clear
roads and
light hearts,
snapping snazzy
breathing in
that salty
air, while the
booming white
water blasts
the rocks with
spray so high
as to reach
the sky,
where else
on earth
is such glory
that feeds
the spirit
with mainline
forget about
success and
all that money
this is the real
the last thing
you might want
to do…
at the end.



©J.W.WINSLOW 1/1/10