Autumn in Cuba

 Today, I sent an e-mail to my friend, Eloy, in Cuba, who teaches yoga in Havana. I wondered (again) why my words in Spanish want to be poetry as if it were their birthright, while those in English must be coaxed at times. Here is what I wrote:

Hola! Hoy es muy pero muy otono, con la respira del viento pasando por las ojas cambiando a sus colores magnificas, revelando sus colores verdaderos, como funciona asi, el velo verde cobrando su esencia por la duracion del verano.

Y en Cuba, recuerdo aunque no habia cambiar de los colores, el viento huele diferente como otono como una perdida de algo.

Here is what it means:

Hello! Today is very autumn, but very autumn, with the breath of the wind passing through the leaves changing into their magnificent colors, revealing their true colors, because it works that way, the green veil covering their essence only for the duration of the summer.

And in Cuba, I remember even though there wasn't the changing of colors, the wind smelled different like autumn, like the loss of something.