, I look out over the Salt River, which connects to the Crystal River and then flows into the Gulf of Mexico. I breathe in the salt air as the sun inches up out of its slumber. The marsh grass on the opposite side of the river hardly moves in the stillness of morning as the sky turns from black to pink to orange. A bird is silhouetted on the top of a palm tree whose fronds were lopped off in a big blow, like a dandelion that lost its fuzz to the air-filled cheeks of a child. The aroma of barbecue wafts out of a smoker by a small storefront that stocks a mix of
