Saro grabbed my arm and pointed into the flooded forest where the creek spread mirror-calm through endless trunks into darkness.
“Shhh!” he said, cutting the boat engine. We stopped talking and drifted slowly, like a fallen petal on the current. With the outboard silent, I noticed that the forest was alive with sound – the whirr of cicadas, the chic-chic of kingfishers, the chirrup of frogs. A pair of metre-long blue-and-yellow macaws flew over us, screeching raucously.
