Florida’s Gulf coast is blessed with three seasons:

1) Snow bird season (Nov-Apr): Canadians and assorted Yankees flee the frigid temperatures of their native habitats to invade our peaceful hamlets. Our calms roads are filled with posh cars whose names we cannot pronounce (it ain’t a Dodge, Honey) which they drive at a constant 25 mls/hr no matter what the speed limit indicates. It’s all for our benefit, no doubt, so we can contemplate the deeper meaning of the extensive lettering at the back of their cars, eg GLS-KLS-XXJLS-1-2-3, while they oogle each palm tree staying very much in the now.

Canadians are a particularly jolly bunch. They enjoy crashing their cars in turning lanes, which are yellow marked lanes in the middle between three lanes in either direction. Originally intended to approach with caution and when oncoming traffic has subsided turn into the desired direction. Nope, not so for Canadians, invariably a crash shows Ontario-on-Ontario (O-O for short). We continue to be baffled.

2) Tourist season (Jul/Aug): mostly Europeans who perfect burning themselves to a crisp (we are at the same latitude as Cairo/Egypt) to spend long hours at emergency rooms.. The gumbo-limbo tree is appropriately named the tourist tree: stands in the sun, turns red and peels. Luckily Europeans keep to the beach during the day and amuse us at night with European-style driving: foot on the gas, hand on the horn and what’s behind you is of no importance – their deep philosophical roots shine brightly.

3) Our season (May/Jun & Sep/Oct): ahh, give peace a chance. Roads clear, beach lovely, restaurants empty (the staff is actually happy to see you and you can eat yourself silly sampling the menu). Gators look hungry but we assure them that the snow birds will be back. 90 F with 90% humidity feels just right. Paradise reclaimed.

Reading today’s word and question a nature documentary about butterflies’ struggle from cocoons came to mind. Their struggle to leave the cocoon is immense and some die in the process. In an experiment the research team “helped” the butterflies by cutting the cocoon open. As a result the butterflies’ wings were not strong enough to fly and they just hopped about the table. It left quite an impression on me that struggles are necessary for butterflies to fly and for us to fly, ie awaken.

My family, friends and furry companions with whom I share my daily life. As we interact we shape and continually inspire each other to live more authentically.

The reachings of Jesus Christ, the way of Chuang Tzu and the voice of my niece and many more: Mr Moy, Br David, Fr Richard, Saint Mother Teresa and the check out clerk at our local Publix have all lend a most helping hand to live my most authentic life.

And everyone whom I choose “to see” will in response “see me” and vice versa.