Casa Del Arbol, Baños, Ecuador.
I wandered away from the crowd of tourists, brown magnolia leaves broke apart under my shoes. I found an old stone bench hidden in a narrow walkway and sat down. The cemetery felt like an old sanctuary, its white tombs and crying angels sat quietly under a gloomy sky. Split concrete and overgrown weeds spread out over the soft flat earth. The names of the dead etched carefully in stone. I looked around and felt at home.
The warm summer rain thundered down on top of the car, sheets of water slid down the windshield, sprinkling me as I lay in the backseat, my hands tucked in between my knees. Looking out the car window into the thickness of darkness, I saw tendrils of Spanish Moss swaying in the wind. The last of the tropical storm continued to sweep through the southern part of the state, leaving broken tree limbs and powerlines scattered up and down the rural highway….