A Morning in the Tropics

on a hot damp night
the sheet that was between us
still holds my shape

Even the ceiling fan had not helped. We became clammy in each other’s arms. Finally a thin cloth separating our wet skins allowed us to hold each other through the night. But now in the still darkness and tropical heat I cannot not sleep and rise quietly so as not to wake my lover.

        It had been a lovely day. The boatmen picked us up at the hotel landing and paddled us into the deep canyon. In the shallow rapids they took turns climbing out to push the canoe as we made our way upriver between verdant cliffs festooned with delicate waterfalls. Arriving where the river plunges into the canyon’s head we disembarked beside the lowest of a series of spectacular falls.

in the cave
behind the waterfall
eternal thunder

The return was even more fun, riding the rapids back down to the lowland waters. That night in the coconut grove we swam in the warm spring waters of a natural pool and gloried in the fact that there was nowhere else we would rather be and no one else we would rather be with

swim in the tropics
dark trees framing the night sky
new constellations

Now in the night I rise and look upon my love, sleeping softly, then go out onto the porch overlooking the quiet river. The only sound is the low hum of insects. I sit and smoke and think of nothing until, over the palms on the opposite bank, I see the first glimmering of the dawn. Then the first cock crows.

        It was far away, but it broke the silence decisively. A period of quiet passes, then the same rooster crows again. This time, close by, another calls, as if in answer, then a third, in the middle distance, and the first rooster crows again. Others join in as, one after another, the cocks of the local farmers recognize the dawn. I am able to pick out the individual calls for a short while, but soon, across the countryside on a multitude of little farms, all join in the chorus, each trying to assert his individuality to stand above the others. There is depth to it, as the sounds of most clearly heard roosters directly across the river grade into the many farther on, while beyond them, spread across miles of lowland farms, countless distant calls blend together in the background. I come to realize, as the dawn grows brighter, that this soundscape, reaching deep into me, is an experience that has been felt by humans since the dawn of history, a common ground of being that ties me to the early Egyptians and the ancient farmers of Mesopotamia. It is a part of man’s legacy, and I feel one with the ages of man this morning in the tropics beside the river, beside my love.

dawn on the delta
hundreds of roosters crowing
nearby, far away

--Robert T., Adult