Pensacola is draped in a stunning tropical breeze. I'm caught churning in this sensory love song with a dance partner laced in the scent of wild rosemary - one who knows they have my undivided gaze as everything moves in creation around us.
This isn't the November of my childhood in which cozy mugs and leaf piles are celebrated to brave the coming dark.
Today Florida is worth the Crazy and the scary shit because who can remember that in the midst of this romance? (I can, though. Others, moreso.)
Regardless I'll stay here, I think, feet planted and rooted in wild alligator paths, praying for these clear springs of dizzying depths while the wind concurs, rattling in the palms with approval. I'll stay.
I'll befriend the beach mouse and breathe deep the sunbaked smell of the shiny little dark green live-oak leaves.
I'll eye the pelican as she catches me back, locked pupils.
Oh you winsome, winding, shifting sand, stitched with morning glories. You got me. You had me right away.
I despise your enemies.
Yes, I'll stay here... and struggle with you at the hands of your oppressors. Their hands are my hands, too. How could I leave you like this?
How, now, could I walk away and leave you alone when you have done nothing but heal me?
Lovely