August in Belize: it is the middle of a green season. You fall asleep to the rhythmic tapping of the rain on rooftops and awake to sunshine spells.

Getting to San Ignacio from the bustling city requires you to get onboard an old school bus that wears every color of the rainbow, heralding a 70-mile journey on the Western Highway where local colors of Belize are exhibited. The road is lined with coconut trees and white cemeteries. I imagine the pastel paint on the Spanish architecture mimics the texture of parchment with its timeworn narratives. Damp clothes hang on the line and clash with humidity. The landscape has arms wide enough to cradle the man and his horse traveling down a dusty road, the herd of cattle grazing, and the monumental mountains of Guatemala in the distance. As fatigue creeps in and we begin wondering when we will reach our destination, the bus passes through the village Esperanza. The name means "hope."

Days later, we cross the breadth of this country to the eastern and saltier fringe. Here the world is surrounded by and immersed in turquoise that flows from the Caribbean Sea. The salt in the seawater prickles the corners of your eyes. Conch shells and coral pieces make no attempts to hide from the rays of the sun as they rest on the soft, glittering seafloor. In wonder, I delicately frame a starfish on the palm of my hands. Pearly white splashes on the back of our legs after a day of strolling down sandy paths are a sign of slow island living. A group of locals begins to knead fresh dough and soon the scent of deep-fried empanadas is mixed with taxi exhaust.

Today I am grateful that I can remember an August with these memories. Here's to August in Belize.