Large ferns seemed to wave, fungai remained still. Beings were hidden
in the shadows of massive trees, and the perfumes of unknown plants
drifted into and mixed with their senses, where they stood, miles apart.

At a glance, so much looked alike. But each leaf, each bush, each ripple
in the stream wore its own mask. He asked if she wanted to photograph
the creek's turbulent face. She said: "I have enough pictures of creeks."