It is raining. We are now in the northern part of Guatemala where there are carpets of greens and trees to shade you. We were on the Pacific Coast for some days. The sun so hot it burned my shoulders. I am brown again. Brown like maple syrup. The ocean’s waves were too strong for anyone to get in. There was a pool in the hotel we stayed at where I did back strokes and floated.
One morning after fajr prayer we walked to the canal for an early morning boat ride. It was dark. We passed by a beautiful mango tree with birds singing their praises. They were so happy it reminded me of giving thanks each morning even if I didn’t sleep so well the night before. Every morning that I wake up I am given another day.
I’ve realized that I’ve changed some. I was so happy to wake up to the rain and cool air this morning. By the coast it was over 90 degrees. I’ve lived almost five years in the Bay Area and even though I complain about the weather not being hot enough, I’ve gotten used to it. There are no seasons like in New York where I can appreciate the coming of spring and the love all around in the summertime. I don’t want the steamy nights of Brooklyn where even an air condition wouldn’t help but I would like more than a hot day or two. But the heat in the coast bothered me. I was no longer used to it any more. Not even my last trip to Cuba was that hot.
We are now in the jungle on our way to Tikal to see the Mayan ruins. We were travelling for 15 hours yesterday to get here. My tailbone hurts from the bumpy bus ride but my ankles are back. My feet swollen for days in the heat and the sand walking. My belly getting bigger, I wonder if blueberry is getting frustrated with me and all the traveling. I talk to my belly and say, Be patient every moment is another story to tell you.