Evening in Florida

Evening in Florida is perhaps my favorite time of all the times of day around the world.

The sun is loathe to leave the day. It hovers far longer in the sky than it does in Vermont and seems to slow in its fall towards the horizon as day becomes night. The last vestiges of sun cling to the treetops and then the sun is gone, only to be seen again in the clouds that turn orange in the evening sky even as Venus winks at me below in the streets.

I always walk at night in Florida. I enjoy the breeze that comes in off the ocean, the sun on the clouds, the humidity that hugs but does not cling. I feel my feet on the concrete of the street and I hear the swaying of the palm's leaves in the wind. I walk at night and I think.

Night is an amazing time to think. I found myself, last night, walking and thinking of France. I reminisced on the cobblestone streets, on nights spent clubbing, dancing to house music that throbbed and pulsed, alive with heavy bass and schizophrenic beats. I thought about going to Dublin and wearing nothing but a Polo shirt in the cold October night. The first time I hiked St. Victoire and the time I sat at the cafe on a Saturday morning, sharing music with Melanie on our laptops.

The cool night air blessed my face, made me feel alive. Made everything okay. Thought about everything and felt bliss, a sense of self. Felt great.