The many hued harmonies of the Amazon crystallised in a drop of dew, which dissolved and reformed countless times in its unlikely journey across the Atlantic. It made it as far as the upstairs window pane of a terraced house in Bristol without losing its amazonian essence. It celebrated the miracle by casting the colours of choirs of high-canopied birds against an interior wall. 

The room’s sole inhabitant was a red-lored parrot named Honey. When she witnessed the rainforest projected in all its prismatic splendour she felt a longing she had never known in all her indoor life.

‘I love you,’ she told the tiny globe of dew, which clung to the window, still intact. ‘Stay here with me.’

The essence of the Amazon felt the constraints of human language pressing against its vast expanse more tightly than the bars of any cage. Subjects, verbs and objects in uncomplaining agreement. 

No easy escape offered itself, except to conjure up an amazonian heat unknown in this climate and surrender to the oblivion of the city’s dank atmosphere.

The faraway forest, sensing the demise of its fractal extension, shuddered with foreboding.