Florida Getaway

Here we are again, happy travelers, loitering in the warm sodium resonance of the departure pavilion, perusing the smorgasbord of carry-on items, fleeing the orthogonal maze of streets and avenues, flushed with preflight anticipation of aquamarine pools, revolving pelicans, musky ventilators, pastel umbrellas in cocktail glasses, bikinied bimbos in golf carts welcoming us to the lush dreamland paradise—where cocoanuts and palm leaves are metered out in frequent-flier miles, exotic blue cocktails are served along the malodorous shoreline and sandy beaches strewn with hospital waste—where man-eating fronds lie waiting with alligators, booby-trap spikes, poison anemonies in fast-food colors (nature's signal to flailing swimmers, lovely until something bites your leg off)—where old Spanish moss flourished across the ages until Kudzu arrived to strangle the branches and die with the hospitality trees, and mushroom-skinned cliff dwellers regard us wearily from departure-lounge bathroom mirrors, vowing to stay at home.