My ears grow keener in silence; land crabs clatter among wahoo, sailfish, boobies and noddies. Man made this garden, not God. No snakes, for adders would eat eggs and we’d eradicate them as swiftly as we have our other mistakes: feral cats, ship rats. We emptied out our bags of roots and seeds choosing orange blooms, twisted branches and pine aroma suggesting amorous evenings.
An island made new for beauty: creatures are born to touch. An island made new for truth: people must tell the stars what goes on in their hearts. Our species are into communication. We’ve poised dishes to pick up the tiny friends in the stratosphere.
In this low key jungle voices ring better. Is that you vibrating? I clamber among the tight-lipped rocks praising their sienna black-brown, the designer moss, cushion-tussocks, creepy carpets: our Pacific theatre. Green curtains roll back to announce the court of Ascension.
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