I got the call on my radio at 6AM. I dressed with speed, praying the Jeep would run. Working in isolation from society was nice most days, but not when I was the only civilized one, a daughter of Jane Goodall.
There is no room for fear when approaching an accident. A space in the forest canopy revealed the crash landing site; a hole, burnt dark in the foliage. Death hung around this place like space around Mars. Technology did not belong here. Human Pride was a test to my patience while I pondered the loss of life in the biome.
Climbing higher into the foliage smelling of campfire, I spied a pilot’s ejected seat.
The wreckage creaked and smoldered, Earth far below. Ducking the sudden flight of parrots darting like startled bullets from the canopy I lost my grip.
The fuselage slipped above me as the tree swayed. In slow motion, a comedy of my worst fears played out in the darkness of my closed eyelids. My life passed my eyes in a metaphysical poem worthy of a philosophy major.
The safety line caught me.