“The jungle! Is it all burned down?” the lady besides me exclaims, looking out the airplane’s window, probably imagining an inopportune wild fire has ruined her vacation.
“It's the dry season,” I explain, a reflex from years of teaching. “This is a seasonal rainforest; the trees will be nude until the spring storms arrive.”
She looks at me, her mouth twisted in disappointment. I want to tell her that the Sahuaro cactuses towering over the granite outcrops along the coast—emerald pillars contrasting against blond sands and the ocean in its thousand shades of blue—will provide her with all the amazing views she hopes for. Before I can, crosswind hits us hard. The airplane jerks up and down. I swallow my words. A moment later, we land.
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