Cheetah, cheetah

I have loved cheetahs ever since I wrote a report on them in grade 3. On May 30, 2010 I was able to do something I'd been dreaming of since handing in that report—petting a cheetah. It was only five minutes but worth every second. 

Bitten by the fear

 Whilst away in South Africa, my plot in the community garden was overtaken by grass and I went out there this evening to get it ready for planting. Before I dug in to the job, I stood in front of the patch examining the knee-high nuisance, vaguely wondering if it was safe to step in there. Just two weeks ago, I had been sitting on a concrete riser in a game reserve, gasping with fear as a puff adder attempted to sink it's venomous fangs into a game ranger. The man had just been showing the reptile to the crowd, explaining how dangerous it was and the effect the venom had on the human body. He snatched his hand away just in time, quickly fastening the lid back on the cage. Even after the snake had been taken away, I still had shivers of fear running up down my spine. The sign "Beware" with a snake in a triangle was posted around the visitor's centre, a constant reminder to be observant of where you step next. Snakes are a common thing in South Africa. I'm sure almost every South African has a snake story to share—my cousin found one on her porch not even a month ago. And (almost) all South Africans have a good, healthy fear of walking carefree in tall grass.
The wind rustled through the grass in the garden and I kept thinking about the snake. It could easily hide in this forest of green and I would have no knowledge of it until—bam! Excruciating pain shooting up my leg, poison seeping into my veins.
But there is no snake in the grass. Probably a mouse or two, definitely a couple hundred mosquitoes but no snake. As I stepped into the plot, sinking the spade into the dark, moist soil, I am at once thankful for the absence of the snake and a little scared that I've become accustomed to walking carefree in tall grass.

(above photo: taken whilst on a walk at Jan Smuts farm near Pretoria.)