The Brazilian Amazon,
Not up on a tree anymore. Although I had a bird’s eye view sitting on the branch of that Brazilian nutty paradise, I’m still trying to look into one bird’s eye and find some reciprocal delight. Hard to come by. Of the hundreds of these star attractions spotted, not one of them, I could tell, was glad to see me.
As uninvited as I may have been made to feel, I was transfixed by the mystery that lay before me. I wanted to take my time to unravel it; take my time to pause, look and understand.
Every little clue, every tiny detail, every leaf on every tree, every bird on every branch, every creature coiled into its own or making connections with others.
Howler monkeys leap and loop across the canopy, whooping. I could watch this circus act forever, especially when their white-whiskered spider (monkey) cousins enter into the stunts. The frogs couldn’t fall far behind, vaulting about in a spectrum of unusual hues. Rodents roam, birds sing, reptiles laze on the river bank.
An anaconda was taking a leisurely slither.
Come to think of it, animal movement is such a repository of grace.
A forest like this may well have been a ballet theatre.
(And tapirs steal glances from the wings of leaf cover.)
Close to where I decided to dip my toes into the water, I came upon a caiman who decided to do the same. Recognizing he needed a moment to himself, I swerved sensibly away. Although the crocodilian didn’t care much for me, he appreciated my readiness to give him his space and didn’t make any attempts to eat me.
Life is glimpsed here. Your own is reflected upon. How yours influences theirs is realized.
As tempting as it may be to disturb their peace, it will always be more prudent to watch from afar and let the flowers bloom upon the trees, where they belong.
We might have to evolve for the wild to remain.
Lest we lose this performance in paradise.
Views expressed by the characters are their own and not necessarily those of the publisher: The SHOUT! Network. Reproduction in whole or in part is prohibited.
(Keeping in step with the vagaries of the wild, The Jungle Gypsy’s Notes are not published in chronological order. Argus shares scribbles and scraps whenever he finds and scribes them.)