It’s soothed my soul to soak up the southern swampy balmy ethers, to melt into the hot humid sultry salty air. To listen to the ebbing sound of cicadas, crescendoing from a unanimous melodic buzz to a self imposed restrained stillness. The stern mystic hoot of an owl, a convivial oink and snuffle of a wild hog, the unearthly haunting hysterical shriek of a coyote. Weaving into my lungs and luxuriously unfurling - a marinated earthy aroma of wet pine and decomposing tropics. Popping out onto my porch any time of day or night and being greeted by the wide eye stare of an omipresent anole lizard, only to swiftly scurry by and blink back at me. I love lizards. I love dusk and dawn because it’s the cusp, the threshold, of worlds. The ease and grace of a dolphin fin slicing through pastel waters at dawn as it welcomes in a new day. Enveloped by the silky salt water, gently tossed about in the tide. The ocean is the closest thing we have to looking at infinity. I love the night, being the only one awake and having the world to myself. A raccoon is the nocturnal festivity fiend, the criminal cat of the animal kingdom, he’s got a certain charismatic reckless swagger. Stumbling upon shimmering scales slithering through wet blades of grass. It’s magical that Florida is in a constant state of decomposing. Alchemically speaking. Caught in a constant in between state. Terrestrial matter takes long to break down because of low oxygen and alkaline swamp waters. Murky and mysterious wetlands. I believe there’s a lot of folklore surrounding it that’s been lost. I feel like the hostile environment incentivizes a swashbuckling daredevil attitude. The most perilous predators are the quietest. Danger pierces any situation with a loaded acuteness. Its instantanoeus nature doesn’t allow to overthink and frees to act on instinct and intuition, maybe that’s always been part of its allure.