(v) Aerobics Brunesians and proboscis monkeys

In every city exists a path. A road above. A road beyond. This city's path is steep and littered with aerobic Brunesians. Two elderly gents pass wearing towels in tribute to Rocky. My mind fights with images of a Miyagi / Stallone hybrid. Perhaps a comeback is on the cards.

The morning light makes photography compelling. Probosci monkeying around above me. Camera lens moist with humidity. Wiped, I try again. Moist once more. Oh well, the image blur adds authenticity.

Sanded path and crisp red leaves scatter and cackle underfoot. Dense humid forestry hums with fragrance reminiscent of inner city cannabis farms. The whistle and howl, chant and call of insects surrounds me. Sounds unknown yet hardly anonymous. I focus and fade from each in turn, recognising both it's beauty and irritant as individual call. Harmony in union.

A new call from the city. One of worship, one of prayer. It links seamlessly with nature's song. I think of nowhere better to find peace.