It’s Sunday in the lush, steamy and humid Amazonian village of Chazuta. The red soil covered streets are busy with tuk tuks whizzing past, hungry skinny dogs barking next to them, free and wild. The drivers, mostly men smiling that smile that seems to take up their whole face, and waving to each other like we are all related. This one

With my feet in the grass and my head in the clouds Chazuta feels like home. The river, wild and brown, thick, raging and dangerous The dogs, running, barking, loud, The children, laughing, yelling, the trees talking. The mountains watching. The coca in the street, the food overflowing into stories and discussions Cerveza, cold and full of life. The dirt that is the path it covers your feet It