Santa Elena, Monteverde.
When Anna and I arrived at night, I felt drizzle but nary a cloud existed. I was thoroughly confused. It was mist, Anna said. I talked to my mom and she said it’s the mountain’s dewdrops that clings to your skin until you’re soaked. Did the mountain cry at night for the lost of the sun? Or did it cry because the moon will only have a few hours…a few days a month to see each other?
Continue reading “Day 2: My Firsts”