Décadence

Under the African sun.

The sun sank slowly over the savanna, spilling gold across the endless grass like a quiet promise. The air shimmered with heat, yet the wind carried something softer — the distant rhythm of life moving unseen. Acacia trees stood like silent guardians, their shadows stretching long and thin, as if reaching for stories buried deep in the earth. A herd of antelope moved like a single breath across the horizon, light and fleeting. Somewhere far off, a lion called — not loud, not threatening, but certain. It was a sound that belonged here, as natural as the dust rising beneath bare feet, as timeless as the sky itself. The evening cooled, and with it came a different kind of stillness. Stars began to appear, one by one, scattered across the darkening sky like forgotten wishes. The land, wild and vast, did not feel empty — it felt full, alive with quiet secrets, with echoes of everything that had ever passed through it. And standing there, between earth and sky, you could feel it — not just the beauty, but the weight of something ancient, something that did not need to be understood to be felt.

Wild at heart, Africa stole my soul.