Letting Go

Here I am, starting this new great journey into the unknown and leaving behind all that's familiar and most dear.  I have grown up in Florida.  I've spent twenty-three sticky hot summers under the relentless sun and just as many winters hoping for a cool breeze and an excuse to wear my tall boots.  I've taken for granted the beauty of an old oak and it's mangled moss swaying lazily on its branches.  I've forgotten that not everywhere can you spy the leathery neck of an alligator gliding seamlessly through the water, or lizards clinging to window screens, or an open pasture with a lone palm tree jutting up and hungrily reaching towards the sky.  I cannot imagine hearing the rain and not the resounding rumblings of a thunderclap, or seeing dark clouds looming in the distance and no sudden flashes of light dancing in the sky.  I will miss the sunshine that ever reddened my face.  I will miss the intensity of the blue every time I look up, no matter the season.  I will miss the sweet smell of orange blossoms wafting through the air, and the rolling groves of trees dotted with citrus baubles.  I'll miss the way thick St. Augustine grass crunches under my toes, and even the tickle of love-bugs exploring my hand.   

  All my life I looked for an excuse to leave this place, and now that excuse has found me.  I am thrilled, terrified, and so happy all at once, but I cannot help but feel a pang of grief at saying goodbye to this place I thought I didn't love.  Now I know better.  No matter where life takes me, this sandy-soiled land is in my blood.  I am barefoot with the taste of tangerine upon my lips.  I am a Florida girl.