Tamil Nadu, India. 

This land was an impenetrable forest, once upon a time. Then the French and the British came and ravaged it over and over again to build their cities. Summer dried the soil and the water ran off. Nothing would grow anymore. Then, people came from all over the world, people for whom ordinary life wasn't enough anymore, and they planted trees to shelter them from the burning sun, and built their lives together and found meaning in the world once again. 

Now, the jungle is a womb. The air in the tropics is like warm honey, viscous, sticky, filling the ears until the sounds of the outside world are far away. Time is sidereal here. In the still light of the afternoons, the hours pass like days, and the future is always now. 

But every year, the summer comes, and with it, the memory of the desert.