#cane fields

For the love of Nature there go I SMALL INDIAN MONGOOSE The feet have five toes Introduced to the United States to control rats in sugar cane fields Origin: India Successful invader considered a pest! ... Animal facts

The jet bores like a silverfish through volumes of cloud — clouds that will keep no record of where we have passed, nor the sea’s mirror, nor the coral busy with its own culture; they aren’t doors of dissolving stone, but pages in a damp culture that come apart. So a hole in their parchment opens, and suddenly, in a vast dereliction of sunlight, there’s that island known to the traveller Trollope, and the fellow traveller Froude, for making nothing. Not even a people. The jet’s shadow ripples over green jungles as steadily as a minnow through seaweed. Our sunlight is shared by Rome and your white paper, Joseph. Here, as everywhere else, it is the same age. In cities, in settlements of mud, light has never had epochs. Near the rusty harbor around Port of Spain bright suburbs fade into words — Maraval, Diego Martin – the highways long as regrets, and steeples so tiny you couldn’t hear their bells, nor the sharp exclamations of whitewashed minarets from green villages. The lowering window resounds over pages of earth, the canefields set in stanzas. Skimming over an ocher swamp like a fast cloud of egrets are nouns that find their branches as simply as birds. It comes too fast, this shelving sense of home — canes rushing the wing, a fence; a world that still stands as the trundling tires keep shaking and shaking the heart.

I tried it. The camera wouldn't adjust so I put some filters on them and called it artsy.

Raoul Grivalliers & Florent Baratini - Bélia manmay la