Some day, the trail will be the same, but the world will be different.....

Monday, Late

The iguanas here are lazy. They lord over us from treetops, having nothing to do all day but digest fig leaves. The millipedes have sex all day. This occurs, day after day, nonstop. They bats do not know they are in imminent danger of extinction. They get right up in a person's face, regardless of any resemblance to Ozzy Osbourne. Poor vision. I did not bring any Slayer to see if it attracts them. Early experiments in California suggested this was the case.

I cannot get enough of walking through dark forests, stopping periodically to turn off my flashlight and loose myself in strange thoughts. The rain came down so thick that when I turned the light back on, there was a reflective sheet of water hiding me from the world. Better to use the moonlight to see on days like this. The fuzzy boundary between this world and the next blurs a great deal. One day, the trail will be the same, but the world will be different.

Parts of this place recall a dream I had, years ago, about Nepal, a place I have never visited elsewise. In my dream, which was so real I could hear monsoon rain clink thunderously against corrugated metal roofs, it was mostly dark and wet like this.

The best I can gather from repeatedly replaying the animations on geology websites, Central America was an island arc in the Pacific, off the coast of California, about 25 million years ago.
The cocos plate seems to have crammed them into their current position. Woe to the extinct South American megafauna. Strange Isthmus.