Uxorial, phantasmagorical, primordial: no matter now many words you apply to it, it just sits there on its woven tuffet, this enormous thing of tropical splendor with electric green wings and golden eyes and blood-red beak, this thing of time passing slowly. It keeps itself and its brood quiet and warm and still under the wild green canopy, watching like Shiva and waiting for change. When it lifts one wing to worry its feathers with grooming, you can see the pregnant pause of life beneath it, and want, for a moment, to reach inside and steal the potential hiding there like a pledge owed to some secret inheritor. But this, of course, is an ecotour -- no disturbing the wildlife, the willing or the quietly watchful. Keep your hands inside the tram; time to move on.
(Word and story both courtesy of scarlettina)