Post Format

Write to write

What started as a bleak day proffers possible bounty. The epilogue comes a few more hours from now. I am filled with gratitude for finally have my music library. It was a kind and generous thing from Paul….and iTunes did not attempt to purge it or blackball it. I am playing David Sanborn. I have had a neat shot of Caravella Limoncello and I am settling in to write. I must have something new and semi-decent for my writing class on Thursday. My head is filled with memories of Key Biscayne, Biscayne Bay, a motorboat at full throttle on a day when the bay is as slick as glass. My knees, legs and hip muscles have memory of the rhythm of the boat, especially during lobster season farther down in the Keys. We would stand on the bow of the boat, hats turned backwards, a rope like a rein in one hand and a marker in the other. The speed of the boat blotted out all sound but the rush of wind.  At top speeds, the water’s surface shifted from a reflective mirror to clear glass. Someone would spot a crevasse or a hole and toss their marker. The float stayed aloft as the weight sank to the bottom. The boat would come about in a wide circle and we would be back on top of the marker. I can see the thunderheads in the far distance. I can smell the gasoline and salt water. Sunshine has a particular smell as well. To wake early and to creep out of the boat slip to the mouth of the marina only to open the baby wide and scream out across the water, first to slice the bay in half. I miss South Florida and the ocean something fierce.

Share

Leave a Reply

Required fields are marked *.