I woke to a cloudless still, as though the sun commanded the earth, to remain and never move . The hibiscus flowers look as though they were 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 were calm so I called my old buddy. “Let’s go fishing!”, and, “I’ll meet you at the Pillar”, I yell to Joe, but he was 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 me and the gulls. I follow my subconscious as I’m 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 him. 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 out what’s left of my cigar onto the curb of running water. The sun and humidity has returned. I guess, maybe, it was 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. The evening light recedes while enjoying a glass of champagne and one of his six-toed cats sprawled across my lap. My second home, will always find my heart, not far from the corner of Duval and Simonson.