EXCERPT At the end of June, the Amazon River shows the first unmistakable signs of a reduction in its flow. It begins to dwindle subtly. Sometimes it lingers on, still at full capacity, repentant, its strength replenished. And then the poor, depleted river starts to lay bare the streams and rocks of the rapids. It threatens to dry up. Huge stretches of beach emerge around the islands or along the higher banks of the river, where turtles nest and can be flipped.1 Everything the water had recently flooded now takes on the appearance of a barrier inaccessible to the attacks of the flood to come. Thus fortified, it hunkers down, stretching out in lines of barbicans along the immense, besieged ramparts of the endless citadel. Muri grass covers the slopes revealed by the ebbing of the water. Cautious steamers travel further upriver, avoiding the shores, now full of new hazards…