Dispatch from Key Largo
I went for a walk today, alone, in the hammocks on the edge of Key Largo. The smell of wet, rotting leaves wafted up, and the air was stuffy. It felt like fall up north. A dodging path, a hint of fear - something unknown here, something unseen. Black mosquitoes with stinging bites. Strange holes in the ground. Poison wood with oily, black spots. Trees reaching long fingers down to ground, sucking salty water, forming fences like wrought iron ... the murky wood, the black forest. I pondered my life: what does it all mean? What do I want? What have I got? How can I live beyond my years? I want greatness, uniqueness. I want determination and surprise. Adventure and stamina. And yet, I want to be more still, even beyond myself. A part of something larger. Like the great dance of the shoreline.The slow retreat of a sea. The gradual building of a reef. Oh that I could be a tuft of sea weed, or a mangrove shoot. One of many countless things building a island. A real purpose. A greater go