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For we have been here a thousand years and we see the change about us as a passing moment in our lives. We sense the draft as you, little yellow caterpillar, bruise the soils and murder our weaker jungle friends in the name of your game to inhabit our realm. Our god gives us sun and rain and wind to prune our souls, and against which we preen our bodies, branch out and strengthen ready for another eon. And we survive. You, little yellow machine, will wear yourself out and be gone to rust and disintegrate back to the particles from which ...

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On close inspection my knees were unusually nut coloured for the time of year. Far from the minus-white mottled palour with those odd purple oblations ascending those knobbliest of joints in winter - just a bonnie brown.  And why was not difficult to work out, as Africa carries a blissful climate in which we were immersed for a few days. And strangely ones knees being situated between the bluff of the shorts and the top of the socked leg swishing through the grasses bears most exposure to the elements. More than the hatted head which in turn shades the beak ...

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Waiting to alight any aircraft is a boring rigmarole of the utmost process, checking and rechecking in a random way that gives little confidence - though of course, we do feel reassured momentarily: and so we obey righteously to escape embarrassment as we shuffle past the x rays and we avert the eyes from the suited officials so as to avoid any question of being pulled aside.  Most recently at Nairobi one has to virtually undress but there was no worry to have to place the unfinished toothpaste or my yellow ochre tube oozing in see-through bags and not a thought about my stout shoes. ...

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