My daily life unfolds amidst the color green, on the slopes of Cerro Chirripó in Pérez Zeledón. It is the color that accompanies me wherever I look. But it does not come alone; along with its saturated presence, the birds offer a sublime contrast of shapes, colors, and sounds. From my terrace, the birds make me a participant in their activities, and without knowing it, they are the starting point in my inquisitive evolution.

​

As an observer and participant in the nature that surrounds me, I can see my placid reaction when the fruit, carefully placed in the feeders, is enjoyed by birds such as tanagers, orioles, thrushes, and mockingbirds. Then, my bewilderment when a flock of about twenty plain chachalacas (Ortalis cinereiceps), with their clumsy movements, devour in seconds what I had set aside for my little birds. In both cases, they are birds; according to Alexander Skutch's definition, a bird is any creature that has feathers. What is the distinction I make between these two birds? Where does it come from? From where do I make that differentiation? What criteria of contrast do I use?

​

Naturally and thoughtfully, my inquiry led me to imagine scenarios where the roles were reversed: what if we were the ones being observed? What if the birds reclaimed their territory? What if they used deterrent tools to create confusion?

Melissa Matamoros Madrigal