Separation

It was a woman who broke the record for the longest time in outer space. I forget her name and how long she was up in the international space station, but it was something like 527 days. I remember they asked her what she missed most about being on earth. She missed the feeling of sunshine on her skin.
I've been away from home for six weeks now. I miss the smell of corn tortillas and chiles rellenos. I miss my wife Aurora. It's been a long time since I felt the warmth of her hand. I hear the sound of her voice, but it's so faraway, like the cool reflection of sunlight on the inside of a space capsule. I miss the laughter of my Mexican students, the endlessly barking dog of Doña Pachita, and the insistent church bells calling everyone to mass.
I miss the easy afternoon under the Mexican moon in June, and the cool evening breeze under the tamarind trees where hummingbirds dive and whirl.
I miss the mariachi's tune, a bowl of beans and a wooden spoon, acapulco sea and sand, living the life of ease on the other side of the world. But I'm ten thousand miles away trying to be creative with a mysterious russian swami and his dedicated band of geniuses, camera experts sound men and IT nerds with a plan to film the great temple of angkor wat. Who knows if we'll be successful. Wish me luck.