Heavy black clouds of flies blot the sunset air outside the cabin window. You get used to them, in this season. Fat clouds laden with rain make their slow passage over the jungle valley. The river is already swollen with rolling monsoon upcountry. Men down by the docks hurry to load the boats before the storm comes in, battling the bloated current that knocks the decks around as if they were on the open ocean. If I were a betting man, I’d say they’ve already left it too late. They better just take what they can and go. The storm is what threatens their passage, but it isn’t why they’re leaving. Looking south, away from the looming clouds, the jungle seems oddly quiet. No birds rise from the canopy. The leaves rustle slower than they should. As if they’re afraid to make too much noise. Something is coming. Something altogether stranger and more dangerous than the storm to our north.
Paddy Dobson
10th May 2021