FL is a mishmash of other states' things put together, but mainly from what I know, it's NY and CA immigrants who have tried to bring alive places in their memories. Walking in one of these nostalgic recreations of NY, the wind blustered in one of the colder FL winters. Seagulls, crows, and other fowl flocked about in the southern warmth, and sparse pairs walked around the big artificial lake. If someone were to tell me that the fowl were also implanted from somewhere else, I'd believe them.
Without too much fanfare, 3 miles ended rather quickly, and I strolled back to emit more fumes into the air to bring me home. The normalcy of what used to be my Floridian life is all ab- now, and at times I'm at a loss for what to do. Change is not necessarily good nor bad, it just inherently is.
The wind died down on the side of the parking lot, and some arrived as I drove out. The quiet of the inside of one's automobile is a pleasant escape from the cramped life of city living. But it's also an isolation of oneself in a world not necessarily true.
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