In the first moments after the sun's awakening, the Keys slumber with the sleep of the dead. The trail of carbon dioxide that will later cloud the narrow highway from Homestead to Key West is pure and the waters are not yet fogged by power skis and motor boats. Mists from the warm water rise to the horizon, giving the sun's first flirtation a dusky solemnity. Standing alone on the pier, the solitude settles into the soul, a submarine of quiet. Occasionally, a Kingbird will burst into a festive gladness that shames the Egret, anticipating the trade of song for flight. It is an ephemeral moment- a moment that is not captured by the blink of an aperture...
it can only be captured in the quiet moments of the readied soul.
