It is the leader. It is in control. It is bold. It is the strongest.

The raid will begin. A battle cry--

The creature howls at its companions.

They dash across the slabs of stone,

The glittering boulders,

The sharp knife ridges catching the light.

He zooms in on the farm in the distance,

Meters and meters covered

Every second. A prosimian army.

They launch their raid, undaunted, 

Barely glancing at the tall fences

And dodging angry farmers

Until they have what they need.

They hold their banded tails high,

Fruits hanging proudly from their mouths

And peelings falling behind them, marking their trail.

 

Another species wanders through the jungle,

Far from the rocks. The Indris. The singers.

They swing and they fly

Between the trees.

Then there is a howling, a singing.

The beautiful disruption of the silence

Warning of danger.

Fire! Fire!

The rainforest is burning down.

The pack is chattering, howling

Desperately to each other.

The fear is thick and dark and hot

As smoke in the air.

The flames are licking the branches,

Closer and closer. The Indris can only try to run.

The one who called the warning watches in perfect silence,

Its large dark eyes glittering with reflections

Of those murderous sparks

Riding the suddenly threatening wind.

 

The dance, a sashaying, leaping, graceful thing,

Starting with one Sifaka, his tail swinging through the air,

His pale fur gleaming nearly golden in the sun

That bakes the sandy shore.

Two or three join behind him, but their dance is interrupted.

Somewhere farther down the beach, one of them sounds a warning.

The fire was approaching. They can't see it, but they know.

The worried cries of others surround them.

The lemurs are running. Brown Lemurs clambering, Ring-Tails running,

Mouse Lemurs through the leaves, Indris howling, Bamboo Lemurs lower down

But no less panicked, Sifakas leaping and swinging. But not only them.

 

The whole island, it seemed, was running.

The tree frogs know of the danger. The birds see the burning trees.

The chameleons dash across the dirt, their skin ghostly pale in fear.

Even the insects below the Baobabs' roots were scattering.

Every animal knows, and every animal is fearful.

Sometimes the farmers would burn parts of the forest for land.

But fire is not a thing that is easily controlled.

They were bound to lose to the flames.

Now, it's too late.

Madagascar is burning.