Two weeks down south. Two weeks with my aunt and uncle under their palapa roof; two weeks with the ocean in sight. Two weeks to watch the birds swoop in a twilight flock across the la manzanilla sky and two weeks to watch the waves deliver heart shaped rocks and green beach glass. Two weeks of sand-covered feet and fresh orange juice served in plastic bolsitas and nights filled with flashing planets and wanna-be-comets. Two weeks to lay in a hammock with a book and two weeks to lay in the sparkling surf with a plastic shovel. Two weeks to eat seven whole papayas, twenty-nine limes and forty-one tacos. Two weeks to remember words in Spanish and lyrics to Shakira songs. Two weeks to wear sombreros and jean shorts and sun-glasses and flip-flops. Two weeks to know how many sips of water are in a coconut and two weeks to learn the names of all the dogs in town. Two weeks to wait patiently on the balcony for the green flash, two weeks to collect piles of bougainvillea blossoms, and two weeks to dream about learning the tuba and joining a mexican marching band.

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