The aroma of Salt.

  .. continued ..

     What can be said of ‘The Sunshine State’?   Isn’t the same white hot ball of fire sitting in the sky above Florida, as well as Georgia?  Ra’s ever-burning, exploding .. radiant round eyeball, casting it’s dangerous devil’s furnace gaze on the skyward looking inhabitants of a lush, cloud covered blue sphere, a scant 93,000,000 miles away in the vastness of a black, star-studded void, known as ‘space’ .. the universe.  From the sun’s view of it, these two back-to-back brothers must appear as one speck, an atom on the land face of a liquid planet.   How could they BE so different?

      I’m certain, a great influence on it, is the paths and patterns of the winds.  Florida does have more storm warnings and hurricane alerts.  The state is showered, almost daily, with a light bath of refreshing rain, after which .. the rays of a ‘father sun’ return.   This makes the air you breathe, more humid, yes.  But, it surrenders grass and shrubs to a bright plush green appearance, the shade of too much Gin, without a garden hose or ANY of your time.  Time better spent, floating on a lake, diving in a swimming pool or thrashing about in the rolling waves of one of the three bodies of water, surrounding the state .. the Atlantic, the Caribbean and the Gulf of Mexico.

     When I think of the climate of Florida, I think of  sex appeal, the casual pace .. tropical fruit, plump and tempting ..  tourism, ‘snow birds’ ..  sunsets, sunRISES and romance .. the scent of coconut butter and  beer on the air .. on the body .. on the breath .. year-round agendas,  the whir of a boat motor, the moan of a morning mating on wet sand.   I think of sensuous silky tans and spaghetti straps .. long dark calves and polished toenails .. rich smooth skin and bare chests .. there’s muscles and there’s mussels.  The aroma of salt.

     I think the appetites of one state and the other are telling, also.  In Georgia, a ‘buffet’ is lighted and long, with mounds of meat and vegetables piled to whet the tongue, as steam rises in a rapid curl from it’s center .. a feast,  to be devoured.  You leave it with it’s shape, protruding at your waist and walk as though pulling several tables behind you.  You sweat and bulge, moan and groan, grunt and sigh just getting to your way home .. for a nap!

     But, in Florida .. a ‘buffet’ may be the nuts in the bowl at the odd bar you found or a bevy of beautiful brown bodies, piled high, as you gaze from a pier.  Mounds of supple flesh, some muscled, some smooth, whetting tongue and tang .. toes to nose deep, with the steam rising from your own center.   An easy grin, with a bit of wit, will  fill your plate with something to remember, if you’re honest and sincere.    It’s a different culture with fewer rules .. more relaxed and open. 

     I guess we SHARE a commonality in Florida.  It’s like a temple with one deity on a large scale.   Our practices, leave us brown and ripe .. in constant search of pleasure and fulfillment.   We’re sun and water mentalities.  So, no matter the diet, the chance to ‘play it off’  is always open to us.   We dine on life, for life is half clothed and demands exercise of limb and friend.  Our cities are vistas, where even out of shape can look good on you, if you’re tanned.   It’s hard to be judgmental or temperamental, when the water’s right, like an attitude.  

     Need some flip flops?  Wanna toss the frisbie?  Let’s just go for a walk .. look for shells!  Maybe we’ll catch a sunset, if we walk long enough.  Then, we can sit on the edge of the sea and marvel, as we watch the day close, in yellow and orange ..  as we become silohoettes .. as the tide come in.   Maybe we’ll feel an itch and fall back on the sand to have it scratched with wet kisses and wild, wicked tongues.   Under the rising moon, our moons will rise and fall.  Wants will be whispered and needs will be screamed with a fistful of cool wet sand in each hand.   Toes will bury their crooked, curled shapes,  as one part is buried in another part and no ears will hear the joy of that, beyond the four that cling to every sound, at least for a while.   Hearts will pound, unsure of an awkward discovery, until their beats are merely trying to keep the lungs from bursting in breathless bliss.   The pleas of passion are lost on the wind, as the rumble of repetitious waves tumble to tag toes and anything else ‘dug in’ on the beach.

     When the rendesvous has passed and a long walk back awaits, there’s a peace in knowing that suits are optional and can be carried on a naked run.   The romp to the water is normal behavior, along with other encounters of tans and sand.
This .. is an appetite .. in the Sunshine State.    Welcome to Florida! Eat or be eaten!