This was written exactly one month after hurricane Maria.
The Puerto Rico I grew up in is green, all green.
It extends vibrantly until it reaches a decisive blue topped with white frothy waves. It has a blinding, resilient white light that you have to avoid, turning your head from it, if you want to watch the sky.
When it’s sunny, it has a forget-me-not blue sky and everything looks clear and sharp. The sand beneath your feet will be warm and white and in the mountains the birds and the trees will be having a party of joyful sounds that welcome you and make you just-happy. When it rains, everything gets a romantic, almost nostalgic veil and your heart feels like a bolero swaying to a soft melodic tune. It feels like a good glass of fine wine, with a breeze in your face.
I have run all…
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