This character’s a walking TV show for the others.
To the extent he hits lines, crafts dramas, provides mystery and resolves dilemmas, he’s successful.
Few are welcomed to the show.
Few would care to follow the plot.
Ultimately his plots evolve and arrange for his own amusement, but some witness them with glee.
Some see the animals he sees.
Some hear the sounds of those.
And sounds of breezes across banana leaves and the buzzing of bird wings.
Fewer feel what those little senses mean.
And that’s the failure of the show.
When the script fails to communicate a feeling, the drama ceases.
The world demands a conflict, a tantrum and a sacrifice.
It must have something on a cross and centuries to bitch about it.
It must have despair and triumph.
Ugliness and a smile.
Decay and fruitful grasses.
A reason out of illogic.
And that all depends on the imagination of man because pure nature could never deliver such a story.