An Ode To Perdido Key

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There lies a place between Alabama and Florida
This place calls itself "Perdido Key"
Perdido, coming from the Spanish word for lost
I guess you could say it is lost
Stuck way high up in it's very own world
A world where a thunderstorm only grows the palm trees, and where an argument sprouts a friendly conversation by the pool
This place knows itself very well, almost too well, you might add
It's got it's own style, the town is it's own brand
It knows no time, the waves are it's clock
The ocean it's master
The clouds it's instructor
There's only two seasons here, high tide and low tide
You could take a boat to get a bite to eat, it's much faster than a car
You could sit in your lawn chair on the beach during sunset, gaze your eyes upon the sandpipers that scurry away as the waves blanket the shore
Just before nightfall you can go hunting for crabs with a flashlight and camera, or you can venture to the dock where you might meet a not-so-friendly hermit crab
You might feel the urge to just drive your golf cart around the neighborhood for hours, and I assure you each time it's an entirely different experience
At night you can turn on the flip-flop lights hanging from the porch off the master bedroom, and listen to the hushed dusk tone of the waves
You could fall asleep, the brisk beach breeze the only pillow you need
In the morning you might want to go shelling, you could find all different kinds of shells with different patterns and although some are chipped, they're all equal
No one judges you on the beach, they're too distracted by the superlative beauty of the sunrise; almost but not quite equal in showmanship with the tasteful portrait of the sunset
Could you imagine yourself perusing local gift shops for knick-knacks and trinkets that, God knows, you don't need?
Say maybe a magnet shaped like a parrot, or a 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle of a sandbar along the channel?
Would you like to spend your afternoons, possibly all day (time flies in Perdido), at the dock, awaiting the jovial dolphin to pop out of the water and wave at you with it's dorsal fin?
There are no alarm clocks here
There's no work, no talk of politics, and definitely no sadness here
You may call it fake, or maybe you imply that it's trying to separate itself from the real world, and that it's inhabitants are trapped in their own false utopia
But make no mistake, Perdido Key, Florida, knows how to have a good time!

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