jungle - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The aura of the jungle, of a million wild souls, is as tangible as water when one bathes. It is another sense, one that comes to the heart rather than the eyes, as soaked in richness as they are.
...cutting their way through the dense, suffocating undergrowth, fighting through the very air, which hung heavy, moist and still. Trees tall as cathedrals surrounded them, and a strange green light - almost holy - shimmered through the vast canopy of leaves. The rain forest seemed to have an intelligence of it's own. It's voice was the sudden screech of a parrot, the flicker of a monkey swinging through the branches overhead. It knew they were there.
So far they had been lucky. The had been attacked, of course, by leeches and mosquitoes and stinging ants. But the snakes and scorpions had left them alone. The rivers they had crossed had been free of piranhas. They had been allowed to survive.
The jungle was an assault on all senses. The virescent hues were the foreground, the background and as high up as you could see. The heat and humidity pressed in on the skin making sweat pointless. The sounds of the insects, the birds and the larger animals created a symphony of nature calling you deeper. The leaves brushed up against you and your feet sprung up with each step. The air tasted both sweet and fresh, like flowers blooming on your tongue.
The jungle folded around Ryan like it was taking possession of him. Leafy arms fell over the way he'd come and blocked his motion in every direction. Every view was unique but the same all at once. Had he paid more attention to those one thousand piece jigsaw puzzles his mother liked so much, perhaps he could have picked his way back by eye, but right now, in the rapidly approaching twilight- not a chance. He pulled out his GPS and took a swig of water. Ryan let out a long sigh; he wasn't as deep in as he'd feared but he'd have to slice his way out a step at a time. It was going to take just as long to get out as it took to get in, perhaps more so. He stretched the fingers of his right hand repeatedly, opening and closing, before re-clasping the handle of his machete. The fingerless gloves had kept the blisters at bay but his palm was sore.
Ryan thought he knew what being in a jungle would be like, he'd seen so many movies and read so many books. His first breath under the dense canopy was like inhaling a warm soup made from aromatic blossoms. Though his lungs kept heaving the air in and out it was more like drowning than breathing for this desert boy. The noises weren't loud, but overwhelming in their density. They came from beneath his boots, at his own level and from above. He'd abandoned cotton clothing for high-end sports gear that would stay drier and not weigh so much when wet. His footwear was the typical heavy boot; there wasn't a chance in hell he'd walk through this jungle without his ankles being protected from the snakes and scorpions.
The sweet jungle fragrance was almost cloying. Moving between the dense vegetation was nothing like walking the forests back home. Here Lucy cut a pathway as she walked, machete in her right and a free left hand to catch branches. The moisture was so think that sweating had become obsolete, it just ran warmly into her already drenched clothes, only achieving further dehydration. Everywhere lay water, water in pools and water caught on leaves as large a two-seater couch. Around here were more noises than her ears could separate. From every direction came the hums and chirps of insects, the song of birds and the calls of mammals. There were poisonous creatures and large carnivores, yet it was meeting other humans that scared her the most- humans with their bigger brains and more creative ways of killing.
The river passes through the jungle wide and opaque. The water is green, darker in the shadows and more pale in the light, but still green. Against the noise of the birds that are welcoming the new day the gentle murmur of the water can only just be heard, a backdrop to the musical notes coming from above. For all its serenity there is more danger in its swirling depths than the trees behind. Between the crocs and the piranhas I don't even want to get my boots wet. But in this wooden boat it will take me miles in the direction I wish to travel with little effort on my part.
I have been studying in this jungle these past eight months, by now the spring should have given way to summer and then tumbled into autumn gaiety. But here the virescence is eternal, there is one season only - forever summer. Everyday is balmy, heady, sultry and filled with the never ending green of the giant leaves and the trees that stretch endlessly up into the sky like the stilts of God. In this place I am alien, I bring the gadgets of my kind and strange concepts such as the marking of time and the classification of flora and fauna. I wear clothes and encase my feet in tough boots. I cover myself in insect repellants and in my blood flow thousands of dollars worth of vaccines. Every other creature here takes life a day at a time, I am the only one burdened with the weight of the future and past, with the task of scientific advancement.
In the jungle I am inconsequential, yet I feel like I belong. On the city streets of home the people eddy around me like the water of a great river about a pebble. Here the trees do not care for me either, but they don't avert their gaze or look disgruntled at my presence. They don't brush against me unless I move toward them, they are not hurried, stressed. I feel embraced by their leafy boughs and cocooned in the hundreds of noises that flow from every direction. My spirit is one with theirs; they wick up my anxieties like dry blotting paper on ink. I want to take this jungle home with me, make it part of my everyday but I can't. Instead I'll just have to settle for pot plants, green accents and the recordings I make today, burnt to CD and playing softly in the background.
In the jungle the word “green” was as useless. Without the vocabulary to distinguish between the hues you might as well just point and grunt. Were our cities like this we would have dozens of words just for the pale greens. How many words do we have for coffee? How many names for different models of car? That said, the creatures here fall into roughly into just two camps: either they are expertly camouflaged, so much so that you'll never know they are there lest they decide to make a meal of you, or else they are vibrant reds, blues, yellows and greens.
As I pass under the virescent canopy I can't help but think I'm walking over hundreds of years of fallen leaves, billions of insects and more roots than God himself could map on a sunny afternoon. This place is so alive it makes the city seem barren, even with it's millions of people. Here life is at every level, in every direction, with more species that have ever been, and likely ever will be, classified.
The towering trees slanting over the land. The sun passes through any miniature hole it can reach and illuminates the green background.