The wildebeest of words is restless,

Seasons are changing, and the time has come to move on.

She sniffs the air of home, unique, nostalgic, warm, safe,

As safe as any part of any world can be.

There’s the waller where she and her young

Spend hours in the ooze, the slick mud a comfort

From the stinging flies, the aching heat, the interminable itching

Of her pelt, the tangles of her tail, where others watch.

The journey begins, one word piles upon another, as

The wildebeest leads in a direction she knows, has always known,

But does not know at this time and place in the same way,

For things change so, even words.

Words become sentences, twisted, difficult to push through,

The story weaves itself, always noisiest at night, as

Herds of words won’t stop.  They hesitate, meditate, ponder, and push,

Until one makes the leap into the river.

Fat crocodiles, the carnivores, await the leaders, the chance takers,

Teeth gleam and slash, blood flows. Most of the herd survives,

Moving upward from the river bank to the next plain,

The next paragraph, the next story to a new home until

The restless season demands her return journey.