There is no such thing as perfection, they say, but
I wholly disagree – the places I’ve lived told me otherwise.
On the island of my birth and where I spent my early years, I ate Jackfruit, June plums, and bananas ripened by the sun.
In Newark, New Jersey, the birds told me it was spring, twenty-five cent popsicles were summer’s delight, and the first snowfall was winter’s spell.
I’ve danced in Florida’s faithful afternoon rain, watched turtles sunbathe on the banks of a canal, and seen dolphins play as I drive to Sanibel Island.
In Atlanta, I tasted honeysuckles for the first time, waded in creeks, and snuggled with friends around campfires.
The colors at a California’s farmers market is its own Sunday service, and eating persimmons and peaches on my portico was a form of worship.
The waters of Panama City Beach is a banquet. I’ve inched my way into the ice-cold Ponce DeLeon Spring, dipped my feet in Lake Powell, twirled in a pool and swan in the Gulf of Mexico – all in one day.
In just a matter of only eight months, Fairhope offers friends who share wine on the pier, flowers that change per season, and sunsets that are pure perfection.
I know how to live here because soon, this too will be a memory of a perfect place.
Be where you are.
♥
Kadine Christie
