Perdido

Originally Published January 12, 2022

On an overcast day the magic seems to disappear.   It's as if the house lights come on.  On a sunny day the sky is bigger, the ocean broader, the sand whiter.  When it's gray, the sand is dull, the breeze foreboding, and the scrub brush skeletal.

Florida is a layer of sand onto which any arrangement of concrete, asphalt, gravel, and grass is possible.  The Panhandle received two hurricanes, Ida and Sally, one year apart, and though the recovery has been miraculous, there remains a certain temporality.  Palm trees topple and are quickly replaced. Underpinnings are shallow. 

Yesterday we came upon a family from Wisconsin in a modified school bus, three kids and no school curriculum.  "We just try to answer every question they ask - kids are curious," they said.  When the sun came out  the sky turned silver, the ocean pewter, and the sand held pockets of iridescent shells.

Later we drove past Jeffrey Bezos' ship, Jacklyn, a huge, converted tanker outfitted for the recovery of Blue Ocean's rockets.  The reality of the salvage operation took away some of the  glamour of space travel.  The house lights came back on.