Each morning I sit in my father’s old chair and I listen to the birds sing as I watch the sun rise over the Bay. With a cup of coffee, my Bible and The Tao at my side, I am completely content. The long list of each day’s tasks is daunting, yet I religiously take my “quiet time” each morning before I start my day.
Thirty years away and I have found myself back home again; home to the sugar white sand, the emerald green waters, the bays and bayous. Home to the Camellias and Narcissus blooming in winter, the blackberries we pick in the spring, figs in the summer and wildflowers in the fall. Home where the conversations of hunting, fishing, sailing and surfing dominate, where the remnants of the Old South abound. Home where everyday kindnesses are common. The light conversation, enthusiasm and care between friends and strangers alike, though so often misunderstood by visitors, just help make the days pass a little smoother.
The holidays are upon us and I look forward to the decorations along Palafox I enjoyed as a child. I will support the local businesses and enjoy the charm of our historic downtown.
No, the arts are not as abundant here as they are in the big cities I enjoyed for so long. I miss the clash of cultures, the constant flow of challenging conversation, the sheer energy of Chicago, New York and Paris. Yet as much as the big city offers, so too does a small Southern town.
It is the soul of this gem of a city that makes me want to stay.