I arrived late last night. It was warm and humid. Peering through the sliding glass door facing the water, I could see the lights of distant buildings. The lights twinkled and wavered, reflected in the water as in an imperfect mirror. Opening the door and stepping out onto the dark deck I looked upward at the cloudless sky overhead sprinkled generously with stars. Being the dark of the moon nothing extinguished the stars. The soft, gentle air lightly massaged me. I wanted to remove my clothes and let it embrace my entire body. I removed my shirt. The air surrounded me. I smelled the salty, humid odor of warm salt water. One can almost taste it. The only sound was the barely detectable lapping of waves against the concrete bulkhead below. Tired, I climbed into the king size bed in my new bedroom. I felt like a king. I was quickly lulled to sleep by the rhythm of the gentle waves.
I awoke, wondering where I was. Quickly I remembered and sat up in bed. The large open window of the bedroom faces east. I gazed at the sunrise that looked back at me. The red sun had just risen above the horizon. It was surrounded by a haphazard crowd of clouds. The sun’s red rays reflected off the billowy clouds. They were transformed, becoming a massive art deco collage. Reds, oranges, pinks of every shade mingled seemingly and artist’s creation.
The air felt warm, humid and salty already. I pulled on my shorts that hadn’t been worn in months. My bare feet sank into the thick carpet of the bedroom then pattered on the cool tile of the hallway and living room. I surveyed the apartment more closely. The constant presence of salt air has taken its toll. The refrigerator door is pockmarked with rusty spots. The metal chairs on the deck are rusty. Everything I touched seemed to have a salty film covering it. The round wood table with four comfortable chairs looked inviting. I sat at the table and enjoyed the rich aroma of my brewing Cuban coffee. There is an empty four shelf bookcase against the wall. It reminds me of Walmart. There are two other chairs that match the two-tone brown of the chairs at the table. There’s a couch and a coffee table. Sitting on a stand in the corner next to the door is a TV. Experimentation tells me the remote doesn’t work.
Now I have my coffee and am sitting in one of those rusted chairs. It seems sturdy. The sun is higher, gaining strength. It warms me quickly. I love the smell of saltwater mixed with the hot sun on my skin. I’m aware of the light breeze ruffling through my chest hair. Between the bulkhead and where I sit is a kidney shaped swimming pool filled with sparkling blue water. The pool is surrounded by manicured lawn studded with various exotic plants.
To my left grows a large green leafed tree. It is adorned with flowers of purple spires. To my right is a giant poinsettia plant. The scene is framed by tall palm trees laden with ripening coconuts. A lone pelican flies across my view, appearing intent on some destination.
I sit several hundred yards from the Inter-coastal Waterway. Looking across Biscayne Bay I see gleaming white yachts cruising north and south. I wonder about the owners of those yachts. Their money, their lifestyles, how do they have sufficient resources to buy and maintain such yachts? I will never know. I’m satisfied with my new home in Miami, Florida. Dare I say again, it is mind-boggling how much difference a warm and somewhat exotic climate can make in one’s attitude? It will be even better when Katherine the Great, my wife, joins me later tonight.
Stan the Man
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