A Rewarding “Vacation” in Honduras
One morning, after our tortillas and beans, José stood, removed his straw cowboy hat and looked out of the doorway of his earth-floor hut towards the hills.
“I saw the haruca in the forest last night,” he said. I glanced across at his wife, Maria, but she wasn’t smiling. She stayed near to the wood fire on the hearth, rigid and silent. “Walking through the trees,” he added.