darkest peru

I walk through a rain drenched forest to get to my dwelling, stepping on slick wet stones to cross wide rivulets running down the mountain and gushing brown. Sometimes my boot sinks into sucking mud so I choose my footing carefully. Alongside the path rushes a roaring river, awesome in its power, washing soil away from the roots of trees and tumbling small boulders through its waters as though they were marbles.

Soaked to the skin, I'm back in my office, where water has slowly penetrated the ceiling and walls. The rug on the floor is laden with water, books and magazines are soggy piles of mushy pulp. A picture has fallen off the damp wall and I worry that my books on the wall shelves will absorb moisture and be ruined. Already the ivory-coloured canvas file boxes on the shelves are darkly spotted with mildew. Disheartened, I carry the books to a safer spot in the house, put the rug in the sink to drain, and throw down towels to absorb the seepage.

The tops of the verdant mountains surrounding this place are no longer visible; heavy clouds have settled down on their upper halves. Rain flows down their sides as if someone had poked holes all over the mountains and water runs out of them. Soil is carried away in the deluge and mud obstructs the roads.

You'll know me as Black Poppy. This trifling drizzle is my first slog, mm, blog. Just kidding about Peru. But the rest is true.