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We sprinted through the cypress glade, blind in the daylight, tripping over loose rocks.

Once a thick forest with rolls stacked five high to the ceiling, it is now a small glade as stock runs low.

The sylvan glade romanticism of “Emeralds,” the electric energy of “Rubies,” the glittering imperial court of “Diamonds.”

Gia dreams of a small stump of umbilical cord sprouting from her own navel; later, she wanders, pregnant and naked, through a shadowy forest glade, a place of darkly enveloping refuge.

We rumbled up out of the amphitheater just before sunset and pulled into a glade near a Maasai village.