From this angle, the great bull seems almost weightless - half submerged, half reflected, a living sculpture of motion and memory. The water folds around him in ripples of light, tracing the map of his journey across the Zambezi. Each movement carries a quiet dignity, a reminder that even power knows gentleness.
The sky leans low, heavy with dusk, and in that stillness, he becomes part of everything - the current, the mist, the fading day. It is less a moment seen than felt - the wild breathing through him, through the water, through the watching silence.
From this angle, the great bull seems almost weightless - half submerged, half reflected, a living sculpture of motion and memory. The water folds around him in ripples of light, tracing the map of his journey across the Zambezi. Each movement carries a quiet dignity, a reminder that even power knows gentleness.
The sky leans low, heavy with dusk, and in that stillness, he becomes part of everything - the current, the mist, the fading day. It is less a moment seen than felt - the wild breathing through him, through the water, through the watching silence.
