[Writing prompt from our Nov 29 gathering]

My journey begins with a push off the shore and the dip of a paddle into liquid pink and blue, a palette of morning color skipping across the shallow marsh. I’d never thought I’d sit in a kayak and paddle to a distant island through waters where alligators grow large, but the hurricane stripped away those foolish fears. After all, if I could swat a big ol’ gator with a broom to nudge him out of the broken screen door of my shop, why should I fear them as I float on the surface?

The royal palms call. I’ve considered them from a hundred angles, brought easel and watercolors to the tip of Bacom Point in my daypack to capture their stunning profiles. They hanut my dreams at night. So close, and yet so far, they are where the herons wing at night, where the moon sets after midnight, and they seem far taller than the gentle giants that line the approach to our downtown. What mysteries do they guard? What secrets do they know?

I dip the paddle again, and the gleam of pink plays over the wood. If I arrive after the sun rises, it will be much warmer than now, so I redouble the stroke, pushing through the grassy waters to the holy grail of Okeechobee.