In Costa Rica
Steamy and moss-like, a blanket of green tumbles into the valley, down to the ocean’s edge. It puffs up about the tree trunks. Flat palm leaves open out like giant fat fingers. Clouds of mist gently levitate upwards from the canopy.
The Pacific is the only straight line in view. Perfectly horizontal, it scores the softly grey-green sea away from a duck egg sky. A fine brushstroke of cloud sits just over the water.
Toucans appear once a day, and rasp their hollow beaks against the branches on which they stand. They pick at fruits and appear in clear profile against the pale sky.
The whirr of crickets, bark of macaws and chirrups of other small birds repeat, and dome-headed vultures spin in rising eddies.
There are bugs here, but they keep themselves to themselves. None of them want to share my ice cold lemonade, or strong black coffee.
This post was first published on Thu Nov 01 2018