Late in the afternoon on the savanna, the heat finally loosens its grip. The sun drops toward the horizon and swells into a soft white disc, wrapped in a glow of apricot and gold, and the whole plain seems to exhale. The grass, which all day has been the colour of dry straw, turns to saffron and burnt orange and begins to shine.
On a low rise to the left stands a single acacia, its crown spread flat like an open hand. It is the oldest thing in the picture and the stillest. Its shadow stretches away across the grass in a long cool stroke of lilac, the only cool colour for miles, and it makes the warmth around it feel even deeper.
Beyond the tree, a small herd of elephants walks in single file along the edge of the plain. They are painted as dark, simple shapes, heads low, trunks swinging, the smallest of them tucked between the larger ones. They are heading somewhere they have been many times before, perhaps to water, perhaps to the trees on the far side, unhurried and certain.
The painting is built from thick, broken brushstrokes laid side by side, in the manner of the Impressionists. Up close, the grass is nothing but quick dashes of ochre, orange and gold; from a distance it ripples like a field moving in the wind. The sky is handled more softly, with long strokes of peach and cream and a few thin bands of cloud catching the light.
It is the hour when the savanna belongs to everyone. The birds settle, the insects begin to hum, and the elephants keep walking until the light is gone.