el piropo caribeño

walking past the colmado in bayahibe, somebody wolf whistles. coming back, they whistle again. a third time, and another whistle. i start thinking, well, i must look quite good today. one more time, and i look to see... where is the whistler? who might they be? a last whistle and i see him, a beautiful, large, green parrot, perched under the shade of a quietly smiling palm tree.