Tuesday, February 20, 2018

All the time

Seasons in South Florida change subtly, sometimes only indicated by the slant of light and dryer air. Our region shares the tropical nature of the Caribbean islands, though we are technically part of the North American mainland. During the Gypsy Years, I would venture over to England - another island nation. After Canada, more of Florida's visitors are from the UK and it's easy to see why when you visit. A mile-thick cloud cover blocks the sun and after a few weeks this cold Floridian forgot what the blue sky looked like. They have a magical hour over there, just before dusk when the sun comes low and fiery-bright and cracks the clouds. It is too brief to bring warmth, but everything old shines like gold.

An indicator light flashed on the dash since I left the garage. Nothing to keep it out of service, just a reminder for future maintenance. The engine retarder was glitchy, requiring a little more time to slow down, but still quite smooth.

Early morning workers board in darkness, I greet them in foreign tongue and local comfort. They giggle at the anomaly.
   'Koman ou ye?'
"Pa pi mal."

The unpredictable visitors make their way through the doors: a track star, a fisherman, a man with a carved cobra walking stick. It's also the Sabbath, and Orthodox Jewish families are the only ones using the sidewalk north of Sample.

An older man boards, exuding an immediate sociability he's probably had all his life.
"I don't remember much anymore, but I remember this: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." He paused for a breath of resignation. "It doesn't happen all the time."

Sometimes the day is cold as the night, and the sun becomes a memory. Just wait, the clouds will split and what's old becomes new.

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