Sweet Smoke. Soft Peace.
I still think about that trip through South America — dusty buses, cliffside roads, and nights that felt bigger than the sky itself. In Machalilla National Park, the air was warm and hushed, the kind of quiet that makes you pay attention. Rocío and I huddled, warmed by a blanket, and modest campfire at the edge of the dune. Palo Santo crackling, its sweet, smoky scent curling around us like a gentle blessing. I remember feeling lighter, clearer, as if the past few thousand miles had burned off with the embers.
That smell — warm wood, soft citrus, a hint of spice — still takes me back to that moment of calm when the world finally made sense for a while. 🕯