We pretzel on the rocks as the waves wash over our feet and occasional rock dashing waves slap at our thighs. The sun twinkles merrily on the water's surface and reflects into our cornea an almost painful exuberance. Our conversation quietly flits from one topic to another-- the beauty of the skies, the warmth of the water, the fun we had visiting with the bartender at breakfast, plans for visiting the lighthouse in the next day or two. What do you want to do for dinner? Shall we hit Duval street and pick up a few gifts tonight? The satisfaction in our companionship is tangible, so much so that the florist at our local market once inquired if we are ever unhappy. "No! Maurice's scowl is implausible "Now sod off!" We laugh at his "ferocity".
We linger on the rock-pile barriers spying the occasional snorkler until a new attraction beckons and we head off the beach, our backs and noses sun-baked, streaks of red splashed where SPFs hadn't been slathered. We rinse off top layers of sand and unlock our beach cruisers, lackadaisically spinning to our attic studio to wash off the remains of the day.
The air in Treetop refrigerates our warm bodies, a refreshing break from the sultry summer heat that overwhelms the palm tree's shadow.
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