It's February in the Serengeti – what a fabulous time to be here...

We drive out onto the plain early one morning.

It rained a few days ago after a bit of dry spell, but the news is that the migration is nowhere to be seen, just some scattered groups. Right away, though, we get lucky: we find a small nursery herd with one calf clearly only minutes old. It is still wet and struggling to stay upright. A little miracle – this tiny creature will be able to run around in half an hour or so, and by day’s end will be able to keep up with the herd if they start heading out.

In the same group we spot a cow with a foetus already partially emerged, but pleasure quickly turns to anxiety: she is clearly having difficulty. A breach birth? After half an hour with not much progress, we decide that it’s just too traumatic, so we wish them well and move on, our rose-tinted specs slightly askew.

As we make our way across the plain, we spy a heavy dark line on the horizon. Bushes? Not out there… Cloud shadows? We can soon make out a tsunami of wildebeest, a densely packed mob moving steadily across the grassland, eating intently as they come.

This isn’t the peaceful event of last month, with half a million fat’n’happy animals dotted evenly across the plain. They have been forced by the dry spell back into the western woodland, where the grass is less nutritious. With the grasslands greening up, the pregnant mums are in a controlled feeding frenzy, an army of lawn mowers on the march, shoulder to shoulder, across the open land.

Soon we are in the midst of the herd, probably hundreds of thousands of snorting, honking, restlessly moving animals. This is one of nature’s grand spectacles, something that never fails to take my breath away.

And it’s not just the wildebeest that are giving birth. Periodically as you drive, a tiny gazelle bounces out of a tuft of grass, its tail held ludicrously upright, like a fluffy black exclamation mark. Not so ludicrous really – it helps mum keep an eye so she can find him again when he settles.

And then there are the ever-attendant predators, looking for these new tasty mortals. The circle of life keeps on turning...