When your avocados are olive green, I look for pimento in their pits. When your cows are the brightest red, a hibiscus bursts open in...

Behind these thick Old City walls a maroon soul still climbs cliffs like a mountain goat, waterfalls run away from El Yunque’s blistering...

A London midnight on New Year’s Eve handed me a gift in the hotel piano bar. They dedicated En mi Viejo San Juan to me, the sort of song...