on the savannah, waves of heat turning the last of the grasses a blushing ochre, sits a male baboon, idly picking at a scab left from his latest unsuccessful skirmish.
over his shoulder a squabble breaks out, barks and shrieks and violent solutions. it's the same problems every day, every week, every month. it's the same solutions.
with a barely perceptible shrug, the male baboon shifts onto all fours, and moves forward into the tall grass. there has to be a higher order, a greater beauty, a more worthy pursuit. not certain of the truth of his hunch, he leaves behind the others and enters another world.