Article voiceover
Right at the top of the guesthouse, overlooking Mantiqueira's mountain range, lies a shallow swimming pool.
It’s the end of summer, late noon. Time is immaterial as you float, ears submerged. No drones, nor Paps with long lenses behind trees; no online frenzy because you disappeared; no wild theories. Only a pale, middle-aged body at one with the water. Silent wild pigeons and the occasional toucan ignore you, and if the world turned upside down, you’d fall through the blue.
Then a cow's lowing reaches downhill, and a cloud glows a sunset’s rose-tinted hue. Your hour alone is nearly up.