“Did you see it? You could see a glimpse of the green there,” our kayak guide told me.

“Wow,” I responded. “I saw it.”

It might have been the tenth flock of pigeons that flew overhead as we paddled down the Moira River. To me, the other birds and other animals we continued to glimpse were far more interesting — huge bats with fuzzy heads, a crocodile thrashing in the mangroves nearby. It was odd that I could not catch even a hint of green in the air, but I found little motivation to continue trying. In reality, I had seen no green. At least, not on a pigeon.

Along the riverbank and into the distance, looming palm trees and thick brush swayed in the breeze. It was very green, the kind of lush that comes with the near endless rain of the monsoon season. After paddling against the outgoing tide, we stopped in front of a yellow Portuguese villa and listened to birds chirping and crying. A stone wall with a cross inscribed marked the waterfront property boundary, and unattended skippers rocked back and forth in a shallow harbor. I laid completely flat on the kayak and let my head dip into the water.

We coasted back upstream, and egrets, storks, and eagles traversed the river over our heads. Fish jumped and a monkey sat curiously atop a tree, watching us. A neon blue kingfisher whizzed past, and settled on a log above the river. An equally blue chapel stood at the water’s edge. Just as we turned back into the narrow stream through which we came, I looked up to see a green shimmer trail a flock of pigeons as they drifted upward, and away.