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We flew over the Caribbean, its azure waters so blue we couldn’t tell where sea touched sky. Below us, Aruba dazzled like a jewel.

As we approached the island, we made out the familiar Divi Divi trees, Aruba’s natural compasses, their graceful branches shaped by the trade winds,

which guided us towards Oranjestad. There, the colorful town center bustled with people. Our pilot then hemmed west towards a secret blue lagoon

where we spotted a flock of flamingos in languid, pink repose. Startled at the sound of the cessna motor, they suddenly took flight. Our hearts did too.