Midnight Pass to Casey Key

We rallied briefly with our friends at their digs on Siesta Key then headed down the coast to a fish shack for lunch. The season is still not upon us and the traffic was tolerable as a result - though the tiny waterside restaurant, hidden among the subtropical trees along a dusty narrow road, was remarkably congested. And noisy with chatter and clatter. Seated on the deck above the water we strained to hear what one another said, bending our heads alternately in search of the sound waves, sometimes pretending to understand though not caring a damn, it was just too pleasant to confound the tide with detail.

Afterwards a taper of a drive to the extreme south end of the barrier island before regaining the mainland across a draw bridge. We hardened our view of the world with trifles about turning 45 years of age; about brothers and sisters; and nieces and parents; and death; and marriage; about the comparative cost of coastal and inland real estate; the depletion of addictions; the unending annoyance of property maintenance and management; the prospect of inheritance and what to do with the money; how to invest; and whether to invest or just spend it all; the cost of fresh fish in Canada.  But never once did we plummet into the depths of politics other than to observe it is an overwhelming distraction. A whisper of camaraderie, a trickle of enquiry, a summary of life before we each return to our agenda, to the manifestation of our personal enthusiasm and ambition, the effort to make it all meaningful and historical. Though unspoken we each knew these are the halcyon days.

"Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?

I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each."

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot