The forest has throughways and corridors, just like any metropolis. With no need of clear cutting, grading or asphalt, maps are easily imprinted and everything from ocelots and tapirs to monkeys and quetzals follow the paths carved by rivers, streams and footfalls of previous generations.
Erosion is slow and patient, using the millennia as stepping stones to an end that only gravity can justify. The panoply of forest creatures follow gravity’s inevitable pull as well, seeking in one form or another, the elements that are likewise drawn to the lowest common denominator of geography.
We live along one such jungle superhighway. The howler and capuchin monkeys, pizotes, agutis, guans and others follow the flow of wind and water, animate and inanimate locked in the same daily and yearly commute. Our house serves as rest stop and service area # 103. The guava and cecropia dispensers line up to offer refreshment, while the tin roof provides an excellent platform, a welcome respite from the monotony of canopy travel. We mostly observe from below, happy to quietly wish the haggard travelers a safe journey, but on occasion, the kids like to meet and greet the passersby. We well know we are not supposed to feed them, but sometimes the temptation is too great. We have one frequent visitor who has become a family favorite. While we try not to make a habit of it, the occasional banana between friends cannot be said to be too much, so long as interdependence is not allowed to become dependence. Our capuchin friend is but one of so many that follow the road for no reason other than it being there, promising to lead to an elsewhere full of further promises.
Recent Comments