Flamin' he goes

His long neck might get some mistaken. His strange black curved bill had him nicknamed ugly-mouthed-Joe. His pale colour, between pink and white, sometimes bright red, seems to fade in the bright sunlight of the African afternoon. The two long sticks that are his legs, endless. His two feet buried in the mud under the water; two big black eyes looking for algae or seaweed.

Thousands of cousins and brothers and uncles and nieces and nephews flying eating sleeping mating doing nothing. Lake Natron, Kenya, covered with pink, red and white feathers. The salt level ever rising, killing everything. Jackals and lions, hyaenas and foxes, they all prey on them.

But still he goes, Joe the Flamingo.