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.
1 comment:
I enjoyed reading your postcard from Panama. I especially liked the imagery of drowsy air and a "blanket of insect sounds." We are hearing fall insects in our part of the world and, as soon as the sun sets, the symphony begins. It's a comforting sound, in the same way spring peepers are comforting in a different season. We don't have air conditioning ... and it's about 80 degrees and humid tonight with no breeze! We have to listen through the sound of our neighbors' air conditioners and pool filters to pick out the music of nature. But, it gets easier with time and, like the person who lives along the train tracks but never hears the train at night, we have learned to tune out the common, objectionable noises and focus on those we cherish.
Thanks for giving us a window into your travels, Ellen.
Post a Comment