Smooth River, Jungle

Even with the nightfall cicadas roaring in my ears, this languid canyon was a place of calm. The jungle closed overhead so tightly that even the stiff, slow giant iguanas could pass safely over. Vine trees disappeared into the cloudy canopy like modernist totems, trunks inextricable from the parasitic branches. It was impossible to tell if plants were growing up from the ground or down from the sky.

Amidst the tangle flowed this lustrous river, blood in the wild jungle artery. There was passion hidden, but like all emotions in the tropical heat, it was muted, rich, muffled. Underneath, the lion waited.

As the quick darkness drew in, I waded carefully through the warm water, camera overhead, sometimes up to my chest. I had time for only a few long tripod-mounted exposures before the thick air became too black. This was one of them: the moment when the lazy daytime goes to sleep and the wild, thirsty, restless night awakes.