A JUNGLE BEACH 105 



lowed side of the cavernous root I saw a mist, 

 a quivering, so tenuous and indistinct that at first 

 it might have been the dancing of motes. I saw 

 that they were hving creatures — the most deli- 

 cate of tiny crane-flies — at rest looking hkc long- 

 legged mosquitoes. Deep within this root, 

 farther from the light than even the singing fly 

 had ventured, these tiny beings whirled madly 

 in mid-air — subterranean dervishes, using up en- 

 ergy for their own inexplicable ends, of which 

 one very interested naturalist could make 

 nothing. 



Three weeks afterward I happened to pass 

 at high tide in the canoe and peered into this 

 pocket. The gecko was where geckos go in the 

 space of three weeks, and the fly also had van- 

 ished, either within or without the gecko. But 

 the crane-flies were still there: to my roughly 

 appraising eyes the same flies, doing the same 

 dance in exactly the same place. Three weeks 

 later, and again I returned, this time intention- 

 ally, to see whether the dance still continued; 

 and it was in full swing. That same night at 

 midnight I climbed down, flashed a light upon 

 them, and there they whirled and vibrated, 

 silently, incredibly rapid, unceasingly. 



