I have been waking up with the sun to explore the forest outside the field station. One of my favorite spots is just a little way down one of our main paths up the mountain, where there is a small river with a tree fallen across. I love stretching there and meditating. Other than the path, there is no evidence of people. Closing my eyes, I enjoy the soft song of the forest…the rush of water beneath me, birds calling for their mates, bugs humming and croaking, my own breath slowing to match the subtle rhythm of the breeze that blows eerie white wisps of clouds. The air is crisp and cool and clean. I smell the savory aroma of the plants (which I am learning to identify), and a sweet, wet smell of moss and flowers. I open my eyes to a soft green glow, dotted by white and red berries and flowers and fungi. I don’t have to sit still for long before seeing a giant blue morpho butterfly flitting clumsily amongst the foliage, and a chubby humming bird busily visiting the flowers, paying me no attention…Good morning, Monteverde.
At night, on the rare occasion that it isn’t raining, I lay on the station lawn to watch the stars. It is the most stars I have ever seen. And the dark is the darkest dark I have ever experienced—there is so little light pollution up here. The last couple nights there have been shooting stars….Good night, Monteverde.