A Feeling Hard to Describe

I remember when I was a little girl, traveling from New York to Florida on vacation. We would often spend the afternoon flying, and land in Ft. Lauderdale after dark. As we exited the airport, the waft of warm air and the glow of the streetlights cast over the palm trees was unmistakable. Florida. We would rent a car, or my grandparents would meet us at the airport. The drive to their condo had our little faces flattened against the windows. It was the same but oh so different. Restaurants and gas stations, banks and stores. Gusty breezes bringing tropical mist, not bitter cold and snow. I remember that feeling, though I can hardly find the words to describe it. It was nighttime and we weren't sleeping, we were walking down lit paths, eyeing the pool and the shuffleboard court for tomorrow. This wonderland seemed like a full time vacation.

Driving home tonight, the same hour, the same scene, only now I am a resident. The feelings are the same though. It's okay that we work and not only play. It's okay that we save the beach for the weekend, because there is school. How lucky we are to live in such a beautiful place. Four, fourteen, forty-three, the feeling is still the same. And I still can't describe it.