The next morning he goes out alone, early, when the cool fogs are still hanging over the river. He is singing, and sometimes he sings back to the birds. Insects that watch him go by, kaytids, tented moths and butterflies, lizards, the spiders in the roots of a blasted out tree, he incorporates them into lyrics. He is cresting a little rise, the river tumbling in knob-knee’ed waterfalls, when the dead leaves raise and a frog’s white belly shows. A beetle is digging her pincers into the frog’s throat.
The Emergence of a Tayra
The Emergence of a Tayra
The Emergence of a Tayra
The next morning he goes out alone, early, when the cool fogs are still hanging over the river. He is singing, and sometimes he sings back to the birds. Insects that watch him go by, kaytids, tented moths and butterflies, lizards, the spiders in the roots of a blasted out tree, he incorporates them into lyrics. He is cresting a little rise, the river tumbling in knob-knee’ed waterfalls, when the dead leaves raise and a frog’s white belly shows. A beetle is digging her pincers into the frog’s throat.