Good morning, Valentines. We greet each other cheerfully. I send loving texts home to my three grown kids. For Frank, I make the bed and tidy our bedroom because he will work from there today. As I am standing, looking out the sliding glass of our bedroom on the second floor, over the pool on a dead tree branch, sits the bird we spent some hours seeking out in the reserve on our guided bird tour––stunned with surprise at this Valentine for all of us, I run downstairs so the household can get a look. This is the best Valentine: sent from Mother Nature, a spontaneous surprise of this special Costa Rican lovely bird. There has been a storm, wind in the night. Two umbrellas picked up and tossed into the jungled yard behind the pool, and all the pillows and mats with them. No damage, just a little excitement. Two of our guests leave on a new adventure, but not until after I am treated the most delightful pedicure I’ve ever experienced in a small shop a quarter of a mile away with my dear friend. Day of a long bike ride to the beach and much splashing in frothy waves. A quiet, simple dinner with my Valentine. Then, poetry workshop. I bring my revised poem which is still a mystery to me I hope to crack. Perhaps I’ll work more on it this week; perhaps not. It’s a problem that wants to be solved. My friend sent me this photo of me from her photo stream today of us on the trail of the motmot in the biological reserve.