Fresh start

Nothing like a Bach keyboard allegro (Concerto in D Minor) to get the morning off to a jumping start!  Plus workmen hammering on the roof immediately above one’s head while yet reposed upon the feather down pillows. Then of course the parade of routine morning ablutions (including the clarification of one’s spectacles and muting the faint perspiration within the shank of the 18K gold ring), pulling on a clean linen shirt, followed by an invigorating sliced green Granny apple! Awakening from last night’s preponderantly disturbed sleep was relief of its own, unfastening oneself at last from the greenish grey turmoil of cyclical thought, pondering unimaginable and out of mind detail, sorting through yesterday’s now distant affairs and those fleeting utterances which are spawned like mercury in the stream of reverie.

No time to linger upon the past; there is only the present to reckon, the future to ponder. There is for now a sunshiny day on Key Largo amid the balmy sea air and the plain blue sky like painted cardboard across the heavens. Now far away from the cool summer Baltic Sea air on a sailing skiff; or, the blistering sun of the Mediterranean upon the Costa Brava; remote from the crashing Pacific Ocean and the Mayan Riviera, the tepid waters of the Caribbean; removed from the barrier islands (Hilton Head, Tybee, St. Simons, Jekyll, Marco and Amelia) to the crush of Fernandina Beach along the seashore of the southern North Atlantic Ocean eventually to St. Augustine Beach and finally to New Smyrna Beach before turning easterly to Longboat Key. Cadieux Interiors fulfills its mandate and plants the seed of retail ambition for the new apartment. And folding bicycles (Mariner D8) from Dahon of S Korea (on-line ordering only, assembly required but entrusted to Almonte Bicycle Works). Setting aside memories of the Steinway L-Grand in brown mahogany. What a day that was! But it was commanded by perpetual attention. It acquired its own patina like everything else.

Time today for a new platform beside a different pool, reacquainting myself with those who have temporarily slipped off the grid of daily chat, perhaps themselves recouping from estrangement of the home environment, returning from legion outings of boating, fishing, snorkelling, diving or maybe a venture to another spot nearby.

A private jet whispers by, strangely close to ground, headed to Key West, the suburban Bohemian capital.

Others arrive on shore à côté la piscine, not yet too late to secure chaises longues. The peripheries are shrinking. There is no longer the privilege to ignore one another.  We’re brushing together like cattle at the watering hole. An indiscrete moment of flatulence would not go unnoticed (an unimaginable social catastrophe). And speaking of sound, someone has brought with them a portable Bluetooth speaker from which emanates only an indistinct disturbance.

Salvador Dali quietly reclines not far away, long black hair, tattooed front and back. Captured youth amid a congregation of septuagenarians. His milk white skin hardly fair game for the blistering sun of the Florida Keys. Wither cometh thee? Whence goeth thou? And why, Sir, the solitary domain? Is you empire and territory governed by another ruler? What will you tell you friends when you return home?

At last I redress my guilt of perpetual indolence by taking hold of my stick and removing myself stubbornly and stiffly to the steps of the pool where I dive beneath the surface, radiating the salt water from tip to toe, bubbling up, pushing my hair back. It is cathartic! At the edge of the pool Mrs. C and I share casual thoughts about the day, reaffirming our collective approbation of the here and now, We quip as well. Now to dry off, then pedal another several kilometres about Buttonwood Bay on my tricycle before settling at my desk with my late afternoon tea and freshly squeezed lemon juice.