Friday, September 13, 2013

{journal notes} i live in an emerald


if there is any color that describes florida, it would have to be green. verdant, pregnant, lush green.

live oaks, festooned with spanish moss hang over my street, holding hands in the middle, so that when you travel down the road it is like you are in a live, green cathedral

in the summer it rains so much, you have to mow your grass twice a week

paths in our woods become overgrown overnight.  you are grabbed by animated vines and palmettos as you wander around 

humid air and cacophonous tree frogs ensure that you breath and hear the green too

all this situates florida perfectly within its historical reputation as a place on the edge of inhabitable nature

if we were not able to artificially pump cool air into our homes/offices/stores/cars, we would not live here. or - better said - the people who might live here would be special, essential, deeply connected to the land

in the humprey bogart film, key largo, a hurricane threatens a motley mix of characters and forces them to hole up in a hotel. the only people who are not afraid of the "big wind" are the natives.

the people before, who can read the sky and sea and know how to survive. 

everyone else is just stumbling around, gulping the aqueous air and self igniting from untempered passions and relentless mosquitoes





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