south vs north

the florida coast is a place of vibrant color, teeming with life: the grass and the

leaves shimmer against the backdrop of the blue sea, punctuated with hibiscus

and azaleas and trimmed in honeysuckle. but in my head it’s all in pastels; the

walls are a faded cerulean, a pale, pale peach, and the sky a constant wash:

the golds and greys melt into the blue and the world is a watercolor, dripping

pastel paint.

here in the midwest it is so definable to me, so discrete, as an outsider. i have

grown to love lake michigan with a deep and personal love but sometimes i feel

like i am better than it because i can describe it, because i can sketch its outlines.

the midwest is like acrylics, brilliant and sunshot and bold. new england seasons

hold a place in my heart but they are not quite like the midwest: there is a brutality

to the seasonal change that i have never seen anywhere else. flowers begin to

creepy through the ground while every tree is still skeletal and sad, and frost hangs

in the air.

the midwest is like acrylics but the southern coast is like watercolor in my head. the

tropical colors are vivid but shy, and the ocean insinuates itself into the background.

i stretch my hand out, palm upright: the seasons drip through my fingertips, waiting

for the next.