Forest of Thought

Looking beyond the supermarket store and into the dense Costa Rican forest stood Minolo; a middle aged worker of the market who had come to love his line of work. Luckily for him, the market he worked at was placed right in the middle of the Monteverde Cloud forest. Every so often his job would come to a standstill and allow him to take advantage of life’s natural beauty. When this happened, his coworkers would snicker behind his back and brand him the crazy old man because of his isolation and mindless staring into the forest. Most of his coworkers were younger people who believed the world was their oyster, and nothing would deter them from achieving success. They hadn’t experienced anything of worth that provided them with the wisdom needed to appreciate the simple things in life.

The forest around him filled every inch of his vision. Everywhere he looked stood at least 10 trees with trunks having the width of large pillars. The evening shouts of howler monkeys reverberated into the ears of Minolo. Any tourist would frantically cover their ears once hearing the deafening howls, but being a native Costa Rican all his life had nurtured him into disregarding the sounds.

Rain began to make its presence known by making impressive splashes on the cement in front of him. He put forth his hands and welcomed those splashes as they became more and more frequent. Further down his line of vision, he noticed trails of water start to become tiny rivers which ended in noticeable puddles. Thousands of tiny wet droplets hitting the trees and surrounding landscape would take Minolo to a place of tranquility. Kamikaze like, the droplets would mix together and become a peaceful orchestra, allowing him to think about anything that sparked his interest. Never in his life had Minolo not welcomed rain. The trees welcomed rain as well; without it, there would be no forest to marvel at and no monkeys to take notice of.

Once the rain subsided, he let his hands fall to his sides. He looked down at his hands and observed their worn features. Lined creases in his skin defined the hands of Minolo. This disheartened his youthful soul, but made him proud of his life he had lived so far. The wrinkles seemed to make long winding roads; each road representing an experience he had lived or a lesson learned.

After one of his escapades, he would pivot back into the store and return to his work. Since he enjoyed his job, it wasn’t tough to return to stacking shelves and stocking inventory; and he always knew the expansive liveliness of the forest would welcome him and his thoughts back into its entrancing surroundings.