The first thing that hits you is the silence. The silence of civilization. Across the valley, there are a thousand voices celebrating life. Many of them have been on this planet for millions of years. I wonder if they will survive the next decade. The stream near the abandoned pineapple plantation is a foot deep.
The cobras rule here. A bloated mongoose corpse lies nearby, a warning perhaps. I’m a trespasser in their domain. The air is slick and the noon sun is merciless. The birdsong stops. There’s this tiniest of rustles, I know its not the breeze. There’s shimmer of scales, a head with a forked tongue tests the air. There is a pause, a blur streaks from the bush and into the stream. Like lightning through a cloud, the serpent goes upstream and disappears.
There is a crack of thunder and small raindrops hit the welcoming earth. Petrichor.

Past the edge of the farmlands. A snap from Thrissur.