Beauty; it's birth.

We walked for what seemed like forty-five minutes. At four o’clock the sun was beginning to fade behind the dramatic green hills that rolled high above our town, Jaco, on the Central Pacific coast of Costa Rica. At one crest in the path we stopped at a vista which was laid out with two rows of cement benches painted and chipping white. The benches were opposite an arch at the end of the short aisle. Standing out beyond the arch and looking across the countless shades of green vegetation spiriting up through the rainforest and onto the ocean and beach which lay below us brought a whole new life. The group stopped to catch breath and enjoy the view. I was filthy, mud crusted over my overpriced hiking boots caked with the decay, vegetation and various aspects of life that lived or fell on the rainforest floor. I was sweating my ass off in cut-off men’s shorts; I took a deep breath and looked out on the Pacific Ocean below. My legs were so eaten by bugs that I had enough time between overwhelming vista views to scratch my legs until they bled. As I stood and stretched, the sunscreen slowly dripped down into the bites-- stinging as the sweat sunscreen mixture smelted over my open wounds, I paused and absorbed the moment. I stood sweating, smelly, blotched with red bites, and tired.

I am more beautiful in Costa Rica than in any other place in the world.