The Only Way Down

I was twenty-three?  Once.  I must have been twenty-three when joined along with a few other guys I knew and headed down to Guatemala for the summer. We took a seven-hour bus ride from Guatemala City out to Tikal.  A foot taller than most passengers, remarkably uncomfortable I seem to recall I read Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway on the way out and was calmed by all her nervous energy over place settings.  

 

I remember the remarkable sound of the screaming jungle cicada and the dull monotony of the eggs and refried beans, that was they had for a veg, you see, and the extraordinary pyramid tops that rose above the canopy.   You could climb up to the top tier and then for the final ascent there was a rudimentary iron ladder crudely bolted into the ancient structure.  From there, twenty, thirty feet above the jungle you gaze green in every direction till the trees met the cloud line. 

One afternoon, in sweltering humidity, gazing out, we saw he clouds congeal with moisture in the distance.  It would rain soon.  Yes.  We all agreed.  A daily occurrence here in the rain forest.  Why not enjoy the downpour?  And then miles off a ferocious flash.  Many seconds later the roar of thunder:  "That was amazing!  I know.  There!  Another.  Beautiful!"  The thunder following much quicker now.  "It’s coming this way."  And it was around this moment we considered the fact that the only way down from the tallest point in the forest, was a ten-foot iron ladder.  Grateful indeed, when I was finally able to let go of it and continue on down the steps to safety.

 

My mind was back in Guatemala today, on my bike ride.  The storm clouds were gathering.  I was heading south, towards Gardiner and as I passed the apple orchard with the uninterrupted view of the Gunks and beyond, I could see that we’d have rain soon.  The drizzle started on my ride home but it’s never so bad under the protection of the tall deciduous tree-line.  I was counting seconds between flashes and thunder twenty-minutes later when I approached the orchard and the big trembling aspen that had fallen last year.  Another flash and the roar of immediacy only a few seconds behind.  I was not higher than the canopy, but I was the only iron thing ambling along a flat field between one stand of trees to another. Quickening my pace, I reasoned that if it were to happen, it would at least be a quick and thorough demise. 

 

 

 

Tuesday 07/06/21