What is coming for us next? It seems as though the rains keep the dangers of the jungle dormant, yet I fear this is simply an illusion. Just because we cannot sense the danger does not mean it is not present. We likely spend our days walking mere feet from our death.
And yet, today, we are alive.
This river we follow is easily twice the size of that first one we saw months ago. If this is just a tributary to the Nanten River, I cannot imagine how large that final trunk of water will prove to be. This one moves more quickly as well, which is probably just a function of the endless rain. But still. It is massive.
How can the jungle drink as much as it does? There is plenty of runoff. The rivers and small creeks regularly overflow their banks, yet there is far more water falling on us than we see collecting on the ground. The jungle must swell this time of year.
The joy of discovering the open sky at the last river has been taken from us by the rain. We can’t even make out the canopy across the way. The line of trees on the far bank looks like a blurred shadow when we can see it at all.
We could drown standing up.
This makes sleeping difficult for obvious reasons. I’ve had to start sitting with my back to a tree every night. More than once I’ve woken up submerged from the waist down where there had been mere puddles when I settled in. If this rain ever stops it will be long-overdue. Keeping my journal dry has become my final contest with the rain. I’ve given up on everything else.
I would take sleeping on obsidian over this.