Although quite far for my camera to reach, here are a few photos to commemorate the beginning of what hopefully will culminate in the birth of some new Tsavo leopard cubs...

The hidden hunters, above; and the weaving, growling courtship of the pair below...

Looking smug...for good reason!

Like most insects, dung beetles hatch out when it rains and nothing attracts them more than a nice fresh heap of elephant dung.

They come in all shapes and sizes - although on this particular dung heap photographed recently in Tsavo East, there were none of the giant Heliocopris dilloni beetles, but only the one-and-a-half inch Scarabs and dozens of smaller varieties.

Fighting over dung is a serious business, even if it takes the belligerents far from the prize:

Some of the dung beetles start to fashion balls out of the dung and then start to roll them away in all directions.

But some of the beetles are too busy fighting to start making their own balls:

Others try to steal the dung that another has already started to fashion into a ball:

Every second, more and more dung beetles arrive on the scene:

And still the thieves try to steal the handiwork of others - and yet another battle ensues:

Even as they fight, tiny flies buzz around the beetles, waiting for their share of the spoils.

This unfortunate beetle got so carried away fighting over a dung ball that it fell into a scorpion hole. The large scorpion, obviously none too pleased at the disturbance, attacked the beetle and stung it to death:

The scorpion then retreated back into its hole, while the beetle slowly succumbed:

The more fortunate beetles were able to roll their dung balls away and start burying them. Deep within each dung ball, they will have laid an egg which will hatch, feed on the dung as a larva, pupate and then eventually, with the next rainy season, emerge as a brand new beetle to start the process all over again:

A delonix elatior tree in full flower.

Full to bursting! (And by the time I photographed this waterhole, it had already receded somewhat.)

Giraffes getting busy...

With the first rain storm, the tree frogs start laying eggs. They create this frothy ball, into which they lay their eggs. Hanging it over water ensures that, when the tadpoles hatch, they fall straight into their new liquid home. (Above and below)

New plant life is never slow to get going either...but the rain obviously has other effects too. It seems to have gone to the head of this Kori Bustard, who was walking up and down in amongst a flock of Ostriches, trying to attract the females with his flamboyant display. Perhaps the moral of the story is this: if you've got the confidence, then size really doesn't matter!

If you're an elephant, it's a jolly good scratching post - so good, in fact, that over the years countless elephants have worn it completely smooth:

If you're a photographer, it represents an incredible pattern, like the marbling of oil on water:

For many birds and insects, and every now and again the odd leopard, it's home. A tree is many things - and, in my opinion, succeeds in always being extraordinary.

(Acacia tortilis tree at Dida Harea in Tsavo East)

Am I the only one who didn’t know that Agama Lizards are cannibals? The other day, I was standing on our balcony when down below I noticed an Agama Lizard battling something large in its mouth. At first glance, I assumed the lizard was trying to eat a super-sized insect of one kind or another, but something didn’t seem quite right about that supposition. A look through the binoculars revealed that the lizard had a caught another lizard and was attempting to eat it! I dashed outside, camera in hand, and this is the scene which transpired before my lens: a large male Agama Lizard (dull in colour without his breeding coat of many colours) in gruesome slow motion devouring a smaller Agama Lizard:

The one that got away! This little Agama Lizard (above), the same size as the victim, watched the proceedings from a safe distance while one of its brethren was slowly and methodically eaten by another, much larger one.

This happening brought to mind a scene I had witnessed a couple of weeks earlier involving another rapacious reptile and its reptilian prey. Somehow this story, though no less violent for the victim, seemed somehow more picturesque to the observer (how shallow I can be!).

This is a Speckled Sand Snake making off with its latest victim, a female Five-lined Skink. We get a lot of these sand snakes in this neck of the woods – they’re long, thin snakes with pretty markings and they’re totally harmless to humans. And as you all know, we have no shortage of skinks here either, which can also go head to head in the beauty stakes with any other reptile you care to mention. This particular snake is a resident here and we often see it hunting outside the house. It’s an expert little predator and lizard eater.

Look at how the blue of the skink’s tail matches the blue of the snake’s scales:

You can see the bulge in the snake’s neck as it swallows the skink whole:

And now for something entirely more gruesome… This morning I found a dead gecko on our balcony, but I was by no means the first to notice it. A colony of ants had already moved in, partially devoured the gecko and was now moving it - and with incredible speed considering the size of the load in comparison to that of the hauliers.

These pictures below (taken within a few short seconds) show the movement of the gecko under carriage of the ants:

And here’s something especially macabre for the boys: a quick close-up look at the eaten-out eye sockets of the hapless gecko…but before we condemn the ants for their brutality, let’s not forget - as with so many stories here at Kulafumbi - what is one creature’s loss turns out to be another’s gain, and I for one wouldn’t want our ants to go hungry. After all, where would we all be without these fastidious insects to clean up after us, carry away detritus and keep our environment clean?

Opposite the house, a new beach appears as the flood waters subside, creating sandy white flats in amongst the resilient trees.

This great tree upstream from our house was uprooted by the flood and created a barrier across part of the river, slowing the flow of the water downstream and thereby forming a new beach as the slower-flowing water deposited its multi-ton load of white sand.

Walking up to this new beach in the early morning, we discover a magical place, an unsullied spit of sand fringed with crocodile-trodden mud flats.

A dove casts a long shadow over the new beach.

Sitting silently in the shadows, we watch sandgrouse and doves land in their droves to drink at the river's edge.

A procession of white herons fly in and land ever so delicately - like a fleet of dainty ballerinas.

The peace of this place and this moment is a spell that will be broken by the next rising of the waters, but for now, it's a fragile paradise and we're the privileged witnesses of a magical wonderland.

As the river rose and rose, it started to chew up and swallow sandbanks in its wake, eroding away beaches and sand flats.

The Tsavo full moon overlooks the ever-rising river.

Birds like these Yellow-billed Storks take refuge in trees as the waters keep coming.

Even the crocodiles, leaving zigzag tracks in the sand, seek refuge in dry luggas.

One almost feels sorry for the trees, like this young Tana River Poplar below our house, which cannot move but have to withstand the raging waters.

Huge chocolate-brown waves roll and roar as the water keeps rising and rising.

The river reaches its highest point on May 6th - looking upstream from our house you cannot even see the water's edge as the river intrudes right into the riverine vegetation - and completely covers our well, which you normally see when looking upstream (above). Looking downstream (below), the swollen river continues on its tumultuous course.

 Remember when the riverbed looked like this, with not a drop of water flowing down it? (See my earlier blog post from 2011) - such is the contrast of Tsavo life!

At times, it feels like the river is about to flow onto our balcony - but this, in fact, is an optical illusion, as our house is set quite high above the river...but the deafening roaring noise alone (especially at night when you cannot see the river) triggers a primal instinct in you, telling you to flee...then your rational mind kicks in again, and you know that you are safe, high above the torrent.

Upstream from Kulafumbi, the river is a boiling cauldron...and even the large trees are fighting for their footing.

The main river is so high that it flows back up into the dry luggas that feed into it. Here we see the Mtito River, dry as a bone, being back-filled by the Athi until, with its tranquil mirrored water, it loses "that Kulafumbi feeling" and starts to remind you of the placid spring waters of Tsavo West.

The crocodiles immediately take advantage of the gentler surroundings.

This is a Black Heron (Egretta ardesiaca), which we have never seen before (or since) at Kulafumbi.

The Black Heron has a distinctive way of fishing. By using its wings, it forms a cone of shadow over the water, into which fish swim for shelter, only to be speared by the razor bill of the heron, waiting within its feather-tent to strike.

And here's conclusive evidence of the turmoil on the main river: even the Spur-winged Plovers, the most stubborn of birds, have sought refuge inland - and what's more, they're not even bickering for a change!

We have a pair of Wire-tailed Swallows which have been nesting for several years under our balcony roof, despite the best efforts of the Little Swifts to commandeering their nest and build their own scruffy additions.

One night last week, at around 9pm, I heard a chirping sound on the floor, which transpired to be coming from a tiny swallow chick, fallen from its nest. As it was pitch dark, and I did not want to disturb the parents and remaining chicks (if there were any, which I did not know at that point), I decided to try to look after the chick for the night and then attempt to replace it in the nest in the morning, with the hope its parents would find it and resume feeding it.

So, not knowing how long the little chick had been flailing around on the floor, using a syringe (without the needle of course!) I fed it some drops of rehydrant solution (which I quickly made with glucose, a tiny speck of salt and water), followed by some small slivers of insect-shaped chicken – which it swallowed with gusto – its bright yellow mouth pleading for more! I continued to feed it every half hour until quite late into the night.

I placed it in a small cosy box to keep it warm throughout the night. First thing in the morning, I fed it again, and then Ian clambered up a ladder to pop it back in its nest. I decided to wait half an hour to see if the parents would return (the ideal, desired scenario) but if they did not, I would do my best to try and raise the chick myself.

But – happily! – the parents returned to the nest in no time at all and I could then tell from seeing two gaping mouths that there was another chick in there too.

Feeding their offspring is an onerous, non-stop job for the parents... One mouthful in and off they go again…

The disadvantage of having swallows nesting under your roof:

It’s clear to see from this photo how the Wire-tailed Swallow got its name. You can also see evidence of the Little Swifts having tried to take over the nest. The scruffy, feathery back part of the nest is the swifts’ addition before the swallows managed to move back in and complete their neat little mud-cup:

A few days later, in the afternoon, I suddenly spotted one of the chicks – now significantly larger and well developed - perched on our balcony chair, having just made its pioneer leap from nest to fresh air and choosing the chair as its first port of call. I managed to get a quick (fuzzy) shot of it through the glass of our living room door. What a joy – to think this chick, now leaving the nest, might be the one we had rescued!

And how incredible to see how very confidently the fledgling then took to the air, already steady on the wing (bad shot, I know, but it tells the story!)...

Its immediate flying prowess didn’t stop the chick begging for food, however, and the parents fulfilling its wishes – some habits die hard.

You can see the grey skullcap of the youngster behind the adult with its ochre cap:

And the very next morning, Chick Number Two emerges – ready too to take to the wing and fly the nest.

A very gratifying swallow tale indeed…

Mum and Dad were still working all hours that daylight allowed, ferrying food endlessly to their insatiable, increasingly boisterous brood.

In between feed time is snooze time (after all, it's exhausting work being "spoon-fed" all day long.)

Mum (or is it Dad?) brings a juicy dragon fly for one of the lucky chicks. Bullying wins in this business - the most assertive chick gets the first grab.

Talking of being assertive, one of the chicks decides the nest is not big enough for both, and scrabbles out onto a rafter. The other chick, responding to instinct that any bird by the nest is there with food, starts begging from its sibling.

Stretching brand new wings in hopeful preparation for a maiden flight in a day or so...

Not to forget the importance of preening in preparation for meeting the outside world...

Oblivious to the events about to unfold (as indeed we all were), a male Agama Lizard watches me as I balance precariously on my windowsill to get the best view of the nest and its inhabitants.

My grandmother, who was born on Friday 13th and lived well into her nineties, always maintained it was a lucky day...but not so for the Morning Warblers. Friday morning, on checking the nest, I found it empty and one little chick sitting below, somewhat dazed.

My first thought was that the chicks had flown the nest and this one, in an attempt to flutter to a nearby tree, had crash-landed. Then, when looking around for the other chick, which by now should have been reunited with its parents in the nearby bushes and being fed there, I noticed that the parent birds - beaks full of food - were frantically looking for their offspring.

This did not bode well. Where was the second chick? And why was the first chick on the floor when it was not quite yet ready to fly? Knowing the chick stood no chance of survival if left there, I popped it back up onto a rafter right next to its nest, where the parents found it a few minutes later and started to feed it again. (The photos were taken through the [supposedly] insect-proof netting across the entrance to our open-air bathroom.)

Delighted that at least one chick was reunited with its parents, which seemed some compensation for the mysterious disappearance of the other, I left the birds to it, not wanting to add any further upset to their already stressful morning. However, I did keep wondering about that second chick. What had become of it? I knew that both chicks had been in the nest first thing in the morning but by 8.30am, something strange had happened to cause one chick to fall out the nest and the other to disappear. Genets (likely culprits by night) sleep by day. Even if one had uncharacteristically raided the nest in daylight hours, it would have taken both chicks. If the missing chick had fluttered off into a bush of its own accord, the parents would have found it by now, guided by its calls. All very strange...but at least one little chick was safe.

Or so I thought until I was making lunch and outside on the windowsill appeared a Grey Hornbill. In its bill was a fluffy feathered ball - a Morning Warbler chick  - the second one. The nest was empty again, this time permanently, and the mystery was solved - the "grim reaper" had come first for one chick and then for the second.

Friday 13th was a good day for a hungry hornbill but a twin tragedy for the Morning Warblers. Nature truly is a cruel master - creator of incredible beauty but savage and uncompromising too.

The hard-working parent birds continued bringing food and searching for their missing chicks for several hours. They had beaten the odds for so long, defied the genets and then succumbed at the final hurdle, just a day or so before their chicks were ready to fly. Perhaps somewhere a hornbill chick will live to see another day, thanks to the hard-working Morning Warblers. That's generally how it works, unfair as it may seem and hard as it may be to accept sometimes.

For those of you who follow the Kulafumbi Facebook page, you'll remember that on 18th March, I posted a photo of the Spotted Morning Warbler sitting on its mud-cup nest under the eaves outside our bedroom (above).

On Sunday, I decided to have a quick peek from a safe distance (so as not to disturb the proceedings) and - lo and behold - look what we have here!

How appropriate, a couple of chicks for Easter! And while it would be possible to take the Easter connotations to ridiculous extremes and say they've even got yellow mouths for the occasion, what is far more likely is that nature has designed the chicks' mouths to be bright yellow to make a clear target for the adults when they're bringing food...

Next time the dentist says 'Open wide', see if you can match this! This little chick obviously wants to give itself the best possible chance of being the successful recipient of the next mouthful of food brought by its parents.

Who's a not-so-pretty boy (or girl) then? (Don't worry, I'm sure your mum thinks you're cute!)

Although it's a little difficult to make out, this photo gives you a better idea of the nest's setting, under the eaves near the centre of the picture. Even harder to see is that one of the adult birds has just landed near the nest, in the triangle formed by the posts in the top left corner of the image. (You'll have to take my word for it.)

When the adult hops down to the nest, it's straight in with the food without a moment's delay!

Followed by a spot of house-cleaning. Honestly, these kids never tidy their own room...

The Spotted Morning Warbler's russet-coloured eye is mirrored by its russet tail. These birds are the most versatile songsters of the African bushland and also great imitators of other birds. At dawn, it is often their song which is the first to ring out and announce the new day.

Both parents feed the chicks in an endless relay throughout the day, bringing new fodder to the nest every few minutes. A ritual of hopping from one branch to the next for a while to check all is safe and to confuse any predators is followed by a swift flutter up to the nest, an even swifter feeding and then off again to find the next morsel.

For birds living by the river like this pair, it must be difficult enough in the dry season to find enough insects to sustain their demanding brood. They must be expectantly waiting each day for the rains to break as they bring in beakful after beakful of moths, ants and other soft, easily edible bugs. But spare a thought for the pairs nesting out in the dry hinterland - how much tougher must their job be?

All that hard work by Mum and Dad is having effects at the other end too! I didn't realise this at the time, but when I looked at my photos, I noticed this chick was going to the toilet, neatly dropping its offering outside the nest (and into our bath, thank you very much.)

A lot of hard work and many moths went into this creation!

Here's Mum (or Dad) again with the next meal.

You wouldn't have thought it was less than five minutes since their last meal!

Out of curiosity, that night I had a quick look to see whether one of the parents sat on the nest at night, and sure enough, there was one of the adults snuggled in the nest, keeping their offspring warm and safe...

These shots were all taken with my 400mm lens, which allowed me to stand well back from the nest so as not to disturb or frighten the birds, and I was careful at night to only take one shot of the nest in the dark, in case my flash upset them.