In the Jungles of Life

The jungle, like a desert, is silent. While the hues of thousand colours play their silent cacophony from dawn till dusk, and while the maddening odours of flowers and moths wage their eternal war in air, no sound is audible, as if none could or none dared to voice their amorous complaint. There are no grasshoppers, and no beasts to roaringly announce their excited pride. Only at times a brief rustling of leaves is heard, punctuating the silence, or at others a loud noise is viciously crashing or snapping, eerily echoing for a moment before silence regains its throne. Yet ignore the silence; this is no dominion for death: leaves quiver in wind, vibrant flowers shiver and undulate; somewhere, a chamelont mantis is creeping by, a butterfly is idly hovering above the ground, and even somewhere above the canopy a pair of eyes can be seen, unblinking or otherwise watchful. Overripe fruits weigh the branches, often almost touching the ground, which, covered by a thick layer of fallen leaves, seems to be reaching back.

Then the illusion shatters; the moth alights on a verdant leaf, and flapping its wings no more, quietly slides to the ground. Looking closer, the leaves are seen covered in tiny spikes, transparent and almost invisible. The mantis too, its laughing eyes now gently mocking, slowly disappears beneath the twisting branches, and in its place we hear a silent slither; an azure serpent has come, and circles the bodies of a dozen bats, outstretched as they are beneath the fruits of a poison tree. The silence retreats; the forest is suddenly filled with noise; birds cry and tweet, fleeing animals crash with the flora, air is filled with flying lizards. Above all this, a vast shadow blocks the sun, and the unblinking eyes are no more, having left for more bountiful hunting-grounds. As the silence returns, the flowers continue their quivering dance; only this time there is no wind.