In the rainforest this morning, clouds have dismissed the sun and among the trunks, leaves and tangled undergrowth there is a greenish gloom. We are not alone. More of our species are represented. Morning walkers cling to their coffee cups as if they are life preservers in a the green ocean. A stick falls close to me and leaves as small as a staple plit! plit! plit! onto the page. Black pipe as thick as your arm pythons its way through the undergrowth into places only reptiles would go.
Other writers have been here. Writing accounts of friendships, love lost and found, incest, relationship status and Kiara B was here.
Someone has turned on the waterfall God or a gardener?
I want it to be God, it’s Sunday after all. The water begins to drip, leak, trickle, then fall over the rocky ledge as it will all day until sunset. A botanic garden miracle.
The water falls onto itself. Rocks will be worn away. The ferns have died en masse.
|monsteria deliciosa grow wild|