The wind whispers in the bamboo and I think someone is calling me. Faintly, so faintly that I am not sure if it is my imagination. So I sit under the arching branches and listen, quietly, breathlessly even wondering who it might be. I am waiting to hear, you see. Waiting for an answer, waiting for a sign, and I think I might hear it in the bamboo. You never know these days where light might come in, and I think if I sit long enough, and still enough, I might hear it.
Trees in the road. I mean right in the middle of the road. Really big trees. Its one of the most peculiar things I have seen here along Mexico's Riviera Maya coast. At first I thought it was just a particular type of tree. The people here revere the ceiba. Its rumored to be the home of a goddess. Don't knock on the trunk or she will come out and steal young men's souls. Well that seems like a very good reason never to cut down a ceiba tree. But I think the real answer is much simpler than that. The people here respect the age and beauty of great things. Old people, old cities, and of course, old trees. I asked a local, "Why do they build roads right around trees?" And he looked at me as if the answer was obvious, "Why would you ever cut down an old tree when you can preserve it?" Simple enough for me. I love trees.

B E A Utiful!
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