Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie

– Shakespeare

Tropical Persuasion 

The sun is shining, sand is pumping, swells keep rolling in, the clouds are billowing, and erosion has been significant. There is a drone, barely audible above the chords of the surf, in the distance where construction of the Indian River Inlet Bridge continues…. Surfers donned in their seal skin like wet suits passel down the pink packed sand to waddle and careen and duck dive onto and into the oncoming barrage of roiling hills of sea water rallied by Igor. Gulls cheep and wander nearby in hopes of a handout. The tide is waning. A lone biker sits on the bridge investigating the potential. A jackhammer hammers away. The breeze is soft and small ; almost directly out of the east The white and silver-gray gulls scamper, like skinny chickens, squabbling over some morsel found in the rack line. There are no kite surfers today as the lack of wind prohibits their wangle. To the north the puffed up undulating clouds have a violet underbelly, to the south their under carriages are more gray. As the tide recedes the hills and valleys of the saline quaffed sea become deeper and steeper. A father and writer whistles loudly, to his son and daughter, then waves them to shore ; it is time to go ; it is hard for them to leave as it is the high point of the day. Nice, long, juicy rides on fun boards. One pelican beats his wings in search of a meal. Food? Time for walk, stretch, brunch …