Deep in the selva, I am finally alone.
Quiet now follows nature\'s wrath
Whose fury opened the heavens with
an unholy storm upon our meager souls.
The Spaniard, whose watch I replace,
finds his way back to camp, like his forebears from Badajoz, centuries ago.
He questions not the forest, nor its motivations, seeking only golden lucre in its muddy rivers.
I suspend from an ancient lookout,
the outrageous jungle
surrounds my unease like a sphinx riddling
me in the early evening\'s fading light.
It asks: Does nature have import in the absence of man?
I am humbled by this place, by its borders without limit.
Diminished by its creation, its destruction,
It\'s endless ruthless reinvention.
Infinitely enriched by its chaos, where no benevolent God could possibly reign.
Whose design, intelligent, efficient, belies only pain and the struggle for survival. Trauma, desperation, mindless reproduction, eternal iterations of birth, pain, death.
Yet the question remains, unanswered:
Why?