Finally, that’s what we are here for. You forgot, the hike became a bit more comprehensive with all those detours, pictures and words.The blue balustrade to sit on and to turn your back, that is the perfect way to show he is a bit indignant. He would have been really angry if he knew we went first to a natural history museum of frogs and toads. Let me call it a ranolarium. We were that afraid to miss them. Now he is here, in the wild, on his balcony. Taken in the dark of the night. Flash lighted. We will never know if he was that fast to turn in time. Afraid of the flashlight or of red eyes. May be he slept already or better is still asleep. He is not very interested.

This one is more of a vain character, not afraid and slightly undisciplined.
He doesn’t feel threatened. Now I am here, he says, look at me. My narrow eyes are not regular. They express my inner emotions and my self respect. My skin is well shaped, colored and dotted, sensitive and vulnerable, but tough and flexible. I do not hide here. Admire me and tell a story about my appearance when you are back home. My color is just slightly different from the leaf I sit on. Mark my words. As soon as you leave me, you will hear from me.The night just starts.

It is the last day, an organized tour and rain and clouds on top of the volcano. It is cool. A cloud forest is not a contradictio in terminis although we feel to be at the end of the world, its last, final, end terms. The forest shows its clouds – to honor its name -  and not much more. Okay, the trees breathe dampness, fog, mist. We recognize the majestic queens we love so much. Paved roads and pebbles and wooden framed stairs. Nearby there should be a lake, a famous colored lake. Watch the signs and the information board. Here we are near the crater of the Poas Volcano in a national park not far from San José, the capital of Costa Rica. Read the text. This picture is what I call framing reality.

Hotel Cortez Azul. Last night. One dog, two keys, two locks, many more cast iron bars, one frame? Do you here the early morning frogs, Marcovaldo?  Or is it the plane?