The heat was like a furnace.

We had seen no people for days. We were short of food and water, and we were lost.

Then we came to a verdant shore in an ocean of dust.

A path, not made by people. A smell of dung. A pair of colobus jumped between branches, their fur flashing. Hornbills perched in the trees.

The path ended by a waterfall. We were surrounded by jungle, rock and water, a hole of flawlessly blue sky above. The sun filtered down like a caress.

We climbed. Underground springs opened up a green artery in the parched soil. Warthogs gathered at a nearby waterhole.

We drank cool water from leaf cups, watched by a troop of baboons. Curiosity vied with shyness as they edged closer.

A shriek and they melted into the bush.

A sensed presence: primeval and dangerous

I scanned the vegetation but saw only leaves and dancing sunspots. Slowly, we retreated.

When we broke camp our only remains were a patch of ash, three crumpled leaf-cups floating in the stream and our footprints in the valley of Eden.