The snow birds are right. Migrating to Florida is nice.
While it’s been a little chilly in Florida by Southern standards, I can tell you one thing: I don’t miss snow. At all. The fall here in Florida in these past few days have been very similar to the winters I grew up with in the Southeast of Brazil: pretty cold, but not cold enough to warrant a parka and tuque (though some Floridians would beg to differ—both about the need for these items, as well as about what the latter should be called).
“Mama, spanish moss is like your hair! If you pull it, it boings back up again!” Truly, these interesting epiphytic plants do look like strings of curly green hair hanging down from nearly every tree in Savannah, Georgia. The scenery they provide, for those who haven’t been here long enough to take it for granted, looks like something out of a fantasy tale.
It reaches out its arms in all directions, seemingly wanting to spread its being to the farthest corners of this estate. These branches are magnificent, and this tree is almost as tall as the tales told about it. But at 65 feet, the height of this tree isn’t what first catches your attention: the span of its branches are the most impressive thing about the Angel Oak.
Ten years ago, I sat on this same swing and breathed in the ocean breeze. And for a moment, all was well in the world. Now, ten years later, as I sit here with my three beautiful children and we swing to our heart’s content while looking out onto the water, the happiness is just as palpable as all those years ago, when it was just Dan and me on a great adventure across Canada and the U.S.
Dan and I have to stifle a giggle when the priest announces that there is a pancake breakfast after mass.
We enjoyed our time in New York City, but I think Dan and I agree… the big city just isn’t for us.