Damn, it's cold. I know, I know... nothing like Wisconsin or New England, but cold nonetheless, and I couldn't be more pleased. This is how it's supposed to be. As everyone talks year after year about how strange the weather patterns have been, about how the toucans are not supposed to nest at this altitude, about how dry the dry season has become, I see now what a Monteverde transition season is meant to be. For the last two years, the rains have subsided, the winds have slipped into quiet breezes as January has waned, and I've taken on that lovely lobster hue common among the gringo expats. This year February is on the verge of disappearing and the wind/rain from the north continue to pound us with a vim and vigor known only in the tales of old, from when asphalt and cable tours were just zygotic dreams in some Tico entrepreneur's head.
It is the dry season, meaning we see the sun regularly, meaning we can leave home midday and let our babies know the outside world. However, the nights remain alive and beastly and the toucans reconsider their relocation from the lowlands. Haven't seen one in weeks, which is a huge relief to the emerald toucanettes and quetzals. Their eggs just might be safe for the time being. The capuchins and sloths are ecstatic. Now if only the golden toad would come back...
Thanks Obama! Just by swearing in, some of the effects of Global Warming have subsided!
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