Sixty Years on the Edge of the Hill

Someone in the group was turning sixty and wanted to celebrate the way only the things that truly matter are celebrated: by going up. And so it was that Alberto, Carlos, Corina, Nilson, Mateos, Mónica, Mercedes, Jhonatan Pavón, Shakeem Lane, Freddie Bevrotte, Raven Sandifer, Carlos Clark, Paul Henderson, Carl Allen, and Torrance Walker divided themselves between horses and an off-road UTV to climb up to the hilltop lookout, deep in the green heart of the reserve. Waiting for them at the top was that spectacle the afternoon hands out free of charge: forested hills rolling as far as the eye could reach, birds riding the evening thermals, and a cool breeze that smelled of damp wilderness. The sun took its time leaving, bleeding the horizon gold, while the group stood still and watched — that particular kind of stillness that only comes when the landscape wins out over words. Under the palapa, with hats tilted and drinks in hand, bodies found their way into hammocks and wooden chairs. Then came the return to Fundación Loros, the moon lighting the path ahead, closing out one of those birthdays that can't be measured in candles — only in kilometers walked and horizons witnessed.