The forest floor gave way to a small black pond which was by now almost indistinguishable from the muddy trail which led to its bank. Towering over the basin of the pond were the Ceiba trees, like obscure shadows that were closing a casket over the ground below. Every now and then an opening in the forest canopy revealed a night sky which had grown far more compelling since we first set out at dusk. La Selva was rich with sounds; there were howls and croaks from the forest’s diverse denizens and this abundance was further accompanied by the voracious buzzing of the local mosquitoes who were gorging themselves at our expense.
