It was cooler here in the covered archway,
Protected from a ruthless sun
And shirt-soaking sticky wet air.
A voice whispered, “Linger here, what’s your hurry?”
But, I was drawn toward the light ahead,
Like some moth to a seductive flame.
Seeking clearer sight in spite of
Sun’s summer fury
Blue-ponchoed pilgrims
Shuffling single file
Absorb holy-watered wonder
With each heavenward step
Screened door on Charlotte Street,
Rooted in its garden wall,
Offers a glimpse of Eden,
But denies re-entrance to all.
With fishing skiffs dawn-departed
And the launching clamor over,
Stilled water now mirrors lemon-lime grasses
Beneath feathered clouds floating in a pastel sky
And a tranquil beauty unfolds.
At day-break
I head north on St George.
Tourists linger still in motels
So I walk unhindered
In the cool morning calm.
.
As if directed, my gaze shifts
From sunlit fronds
To a shaded area up ahead
Where the street bends to the west
And a vague whispered promise beckons.
For four hundred years and more,
These walls of time-compressed shells,
Designed to absorb English shot,
Excel now in reflecting sun’s early light.
Hugging the shore of Matanzas Bay,
Old coquina walls, built facing east
To scour the inlet for enemy fleets,
Now lay deep in sleep each incoming day.
Could they have possibly known
That precisely detailed walls
Enveloping shutters of crisp, cracked paint
Would have thrice-turn-in-passing appeal?
Two worlds in one place
Hold my gaze as I pass,
One world inside the glass,
And one world out.
I assume I am of the latter,
But saying that, questions arise.
Vilano Images 