Aeon Blue Apocalypse

Excerpt of work in progress, 2011.

I wake into a time between times, that lonely last hour of night, balanced between darkness and dawn. Warao lies beside me, sleeping. His snores slip through the moon-drenched thatch and rise to the canopy above, joining the murmur of tree frogs and cicadas. Life at this hour moves amidst in the branches: bamboo-rats caw and chase, and owls howl, vanishing into pockets of night. When day breaks, the heat is such that life is beaten back to the ground, pounded to the surface. Then the canopy falls still, but the earth teems. Listen carefully and you can hear the passing march of millipedes and the damp breath of fungus, the rustling of termites and the hungry crunch of the long-horned beetle. I would not normally wake at this hour, but today is not like other days.


%d bloggers like this: