...every now and then, duchess would yearn for africa. She longed for long-lost loves.
The burning-red rising and setting african sun, the cool pitch-black starry starry nights, the full and crescent golden moons, the dewy dawns and tintoretto twilights, the electric static air before a storm.
The dawn-chorus of birdsong, the midday clamour of crickets, the evensong of frogs, the lion's roar and the owl's call at night, the silent swoop of the midnight bats.
The smell and taste of the earth and air, wet in the early morning, baking dry at midday, steaming cool in the evening, cold and damp at night...