Im walking in the cool after-rain morning. The sun sieved through the after-rain clouds. The mountains he now rests on one of many green and laden in the unscorched hours, that dissapear in turn in to the distant blue haze, way down the valley.
The path Im on, a wet dirt road coils through the cloud forest, above a stoney maountain fed river. The tributarys, some rushing down from steep floow washed valleys, others tubmble in a tangle of branches and thankful plants through pools and waterfalls.
From the road margins spring grass and docks and weed plants, digesting the sun and road clearing brings to them, but just a meter in, the forst floors autumnal, homely in its brown leaf coating, tantalised by the smell of cooking fires and wet earth. From the lef mound shoot the lanks branches of coffee, sparingly adourned with leafs and closely held red and green berrys. The classic torn banana leafs thrust up above these, and draped with velvet purple fibonachi chandeliers. And just there, a quiet reminder that this is a jungle sit in their infinite wisdom, old growth canopy trees, protective and towering, hung with ferns and moss.
The air around always filled with the rivers flow, upstaged by the chirps from the undergrowth, chatter from the canopy and infected with shrill song from goodness knows where as parrots dart in florecent groups from tree to tree. A cockeral adds its odd announcement to the mix. And behind me my back pack creaks rhythmically as i search the skyline for The Lost City Of The Incas, after 2 1/2 months, now not half a day away.
The Eden Project in real. Small wooden houses peek from the shading and a motor bike putters past me, school uniformed girl on the back. No Smiles, too many tourists here, but I imagine at least the chickens are smiling as they scratch in the forests leafs. x
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment