ABSTRACT
During my month of trekking with the Kayapó Indians of Central Brazil, I became accustomed to waking up in the pre-dawn chill to the sounds of the birds and frogs that serve as a natural alarm clock for the Indians. On this morning, I looked out from our camp onto the Rio Fresco, distant tributary to the great Amazon. The water was enshrouded in layers and swirls of surrealistic fog.
