In the mornings a pair of Turquoise-browed Motmots has been nearing our porch. Likewise, we’ve been seeing them regularly during our evening stroll up the shallow canyon by our house. Locally common, they are much easier to spot now, at the tail end of dry season, than they will be after the rains start up soon and the barren landscape explodes into jungle.
Squirrel Cuckoos have also been coming around. As well as Streak-backed Orioles.
The resident howler monkeys are also much easier to spot now while the trees are barren and so many flowers and berries are luring them in.
And anteaters have been making an appearance – John got to see two.
The Orange-fronted Parakeets not only make a chattering racket as they fly by in large groups in the morning and return in the evening on their way to their roosts, but they are spending midday feasting and visiting in the trees by my hammock.
The bougainvillea flowers are in full bloom, turning sunlight into iridescence. Sadly, they won’t be so plentiful in a few months time.
And several trees that bloom quickly and then drop their flowers are doing just that. Some are brilliant yellow. Another has red and white blooms in the same tree.
And fresh grass is sprouting where recently there was none.
On the beach one day there were hundreds of jelly fish-looking creatures called Salps (thanks Anne Pound for the positive identification) along the shoreline – a site I seldom see.
Another day there was a washed up fish. And another day there was a bloom of some sort – the shallow waves at my feet carried what looked like a pollen or very small grain-sized creatures.
We watched an Osprey carry away a fish.
And day before yesterday, hundreds of Magnificent Frigatebirds were involved in a feeding frenzy out at sea just past the breakers. I had never observed them in a feeding frenzy before. Usually they are in the sky circling or soaring far far above.
And one evening I looked up from my reading to find the white wall behind my table lamp covered with what looked to be flies with wings. I turned off the light and ran to my room, telling John there was nothing we could do about it but keep the lights off and hope they would go away. In the morning they were gone.
The next night they returned and this time we watched their arrival. They were a marching army in single file. They were moving down the outside of our sliding glass door and then squeezing through the gap, between the fixed glass door and the glass door that slides, and entering the house along the tile floor towards the light. I turned off the light and went to bed early. We never saw them again.
The Cicadas or grasshoppers, or whatever they are because I’ve only heard them, never seen them, are in full chorus during the daytime. And Loud.
It is the hottest month of the year. The winds have died down and the rains are preparing to come. I spend a lot more time indoors than usual, reluctant to step out into the heat. Watching birds through the glass doors, under the comfort of a fan.
