I am in an Alice-in-Wonderland B&B at Cedar Key, Florida, in a private guest room —an aerie, really. The home is built on stilts at the water’s edge overlooking a bayou. I’m getting hungry but don’t want to move from my chair on the porch.
Why is it hard to sit here and do nothing? The view over the bayou is calm, serene. White birds fly over the water. Silk-screen scarves flutter on the porch rail in front of me—blue, green, yellow, red, orange—all the primary colors. Only cars in the distance break the silence. A cool breeze blows across my body. The sky is a perfect blue, with no clouds in sight. The tide is out, uncovering islets of shell mounds and naked bayou floor. Emma, my dog, is sleeping on a bunched up down cover, settled in a warm, soft place. She snores now and then.
I don’t want to leave, but this inactivity makes me restless. I’ll wait until Emma stirs and I’ll chew nicotine gum until I can’t deny my hungry stomach any longer. Then I’ll put her service dog harness on and we’ll look for a restaurant.