More rambling from the Amazons

2022-05-16 @Travel

Observing the rain splash upon the biodiversity surrounding my little rustic dwelling entirely open to nature’s wrath. Hop right in. I’ve even prepared coffee just now.

The tiny stove burner. Weak flame. A lengthy, but worthwhile procedure. Yet as always, I’ve been drinking way too much coffee, for some entirely subjective measure of way too much.

Some days the vice even spills into early evening. Some days I compensate with Yerba Mate. But now I don’t have immediate access to a thermos, rendering that ceremony a bit of a pain. Regardless, the coffee daemon manages to always creep in.

The rain is really smashing hard upon the mud, the rocks, the wood. A coordinated effort, each drop, one function, impact, merge and dissipate. Thunder mildly rages. Mildly. Rages. But it’s cleansing to the auricular.

A mosquito naggingly buzzes around my head. Probably out for revenge for the one I flatted half an hour back.

Demands extra resilience to stay in these settings. Insects aplenty, along with the bites, the stings. This very day the ants have constructed particularly intricate trails spanning significant distances throughout the property. Tough to circumnavigate without consequence. The slightest trace of organic matter, open sesame.

At night, all sorts of creatures lurk. The other night, a mixture of bird flapping atop the roof with spasmodic rummaging of paws. For hours on end. The coffee excess enables me to bask in such entertainment.

I thought it might be a griffin. But as I initiated the nightly sleepwalk to the dry bathroom in pitch, or rather, near pitch darkness (thanks to the full moon), I distinctly noticed a cat spring down from the roof and disappear into the shrubs.

Whence comest thou here, burly kitten,
The nocturnal mounds to loot?
And wherefore inclinest thou to measure
Against the fire spirit of the wood?

The other day I spotted a snake comfortably resting in a sink, forest green, with patches of black. It much resembled the snake plant nicknamed in its honour. Curiously, that particular sink was surrounded by stalks of the snake plant. Glancing at the snake face, there is always that devious snake smile.

Photography cannot transmit what I see and feel around here. I don’t even bother with it. For once engaged the photography mode, once the thought even springs forth, the moment is gone. The fool moon illumes no longer, the natural element forfeits its plasticity, the sunset no longer emanates, the bonfire no longer burns. And even those handful of informative exhibition photos I capture on a rare occasion, will I ever return to investigate them more thoroughly? The odds are against.

Questions, comments? Connect.