The lullaby waves. The drowsy air. The blanket of insect sounds. We strain up and down the rainforest ridges, picking our way carfully between roots and mud and rocks. Somehow it feels like taking a nap instead of hiking; it's easy to walk yourself into humid reveries and gentle daydreams. Spiders with a cruel mechanic design, bulbous jelly fruits, tiny red frogs like hopping jewels. A sweet fermented smell from fallen apricot-colored fruit. The ground begins to feel granulated under your feet; the air changes in your lungs to a salty wind. At last you see the waves.
There is someting about round shapes, curves, circles, that we love to see. The water gathers itself, dips down for momentum, and then heaves into a beautiful transparent cylindar, delicate as if made of blown glass; turquise, aqua, tan, all shot through with light. A finale of white froth. Past the artwork of the breakers the water turns a darker blue, and then at a certain line it is darker still, where the impossible distance to the horizon folds in on itself, creating a dense midnight tone.
