Saturday, July 9, 2011

Sand between my toes

If you've been a devoted reader of this blog you'll maybe know that I have an affinity for the sea. More than any other place on earth, here, where the salt, sun and seagulls mull together like the best muddled mojito, I can find the most certain of paths to tranquility. Daily traversing the length of the beach, collecting rough worn pebbles and shells, tilting my head back to drink in the briny breezes; these things are divine therapy for any soul. The sand between my toes, the susurrus of the sea grass and the crash of the water, endlessly beating its rhythm on the shore, sing the song that lulls me under. Here is peace. Here is vacation.

And though I do find the time to relax, even I can't sit still for long. And so, within the parameters of beach walking and shell collecting, there's always room for a little bit of sightseeing. And no better place in Miami than Vizcaya a formerly private home, in era with the Biltmore (another of my favorite destinations) where the rich came to play and escape the cold northern climates when Florida was wild with nothing more than swamps, gators, birds and sea. The inside of the home was off limits for photographs, but their gardens were fair game!