I had never been to Oaxaca in June. It seems different at this time of year. A breeze picks up in the evening and seems to sweep the day’s hot air out. It is not cold; it is just right. And, while they fly kites on the zocalo in Mexico City, Oaxacans toss enormous plastic tubes (the same materials as a grocery sack) full of this wind back into the sky, bounce them off each other’s heads, swing them as if they are unwieldy swords, and practically hug them as they carry them any distance.