
From my journal, Sunday 27 May 2007:
"I drive to Nkhotakota and through the Game Reserve, stopping at the Patricia Nkhoma memorial. The only sound is the wind the long grass. Somewhere between the reserve and Lilongwe, a white rabbit scampers at the side of the road. Where am I, and when? Who, or what, is writing the strange story?"
[27 May 2007; Canon 20D, 24–105mm f4 L at 24 mm, ISO 200, 1/200 at f11]
All content © 2010 Pete McGregor
2 comments:
Yes, sad to be remembered for the manner of one's death. Like Isadora Duncan, more remembered for the scarf stragulation than the unconventional dancing.
I appreciate the sense of detachment in your caption - the experience of prolonged travel, and I wonder how long the white rabbit survived. Perhaps it had a pocket watch in its waistcoat pocket?
RR, when I saw that rabbit I seriously wondered whether I'd inadvertently eaten something not entirely legal, or had been driving too long. Of all the wildlife I might have expected to see in Africa, that was perhaps the least likely. If it had been wearing a waistcoat I'd probably have felt less weird, knowing I was definitely hallucinating.
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