I wake to a cloudless still, as though the sun commands the earth to remain and never move. The hibiscus flowers appear as though they are painted in time – the colors so serene. The palms poise reverently along the walk that line the curbs of Whitehead town. The sun blisters old, wooden pickets that divide the parcels. Brittle, brick walls guard some, like a fortress, for those most eloquent of homes. Manicured lawns border the gardens as flowers bloom, blessing the yards.
I walk to the corner of Duval. Looking up through the fronds, the crystal blue back drop shows so radiantly. The seas are calm so I call my old buddy, Joe. “Let’s go fishing!”, and, “I’ll meet you at the Pillar” but he is still asleep. Late night, I guess, you might say. I listen to the useless chatter coming from the open windows. God, what a beautiful day, I think to myself while walking by the little conch houses. The scripts are bubbling right out of my head! I could sit and type on my brand new Singer but it can wait for a rainy afternoon. There’s fish out there I need to catch!
The calm seas invite the gulls and I. So, I follow my subconscious in pursuit of the one that got away from me last week. Like thunder, other yachts rumble while heading out to sea. I watch their wakes as it lusters in the sunlight – ripples against the morning haze – slowly burning away. I sit for hours watching the lines, thinking of the old times and ventures we’d taken.
By three or so, the gulls retreat back to shore. The fish just aren’t biting – the moon or tide has something to do with it. I walk along the cobblestones and think how awesome life must have been for Hemingway. A bustling, little island out in the middle of a great big ocean . What a life!
To never grow old, your name in lights, and fame finding you at every threshold – I can’t imagine! Standing in a doorway, I watch those who, unknowingly, are caught by an afternoon shower. I smile, flicking what’s left of my cigar, into the curb of running water . The sun and humidity has returned. I guess, maybe, it is time for a totty.
Yes! I’d give anything to be Hemingway for a day! I’d write my memoirs of where I’ve been while enjoying a glass of champagne. One of his five-toed cats would be sprawled across my lap as the evening light receded. My second home, will always find my heart, not far from the corner of Duval and Simonson.