A last morning walk of my sixty days. It’s past sunrise. Every day is a different shoreline. I meet a gorgeous snowy egret wading in the surf. This is goodbye. I will miss these fabulous shorebirds. When I arrived, I didn’t know which way to walk, north or south, which way I’d prefer. Mostly, at first, I headed south, and this was nice. Past the resorts, early morning empty beach chairs, closed umbrellas. Soon, I learned how much I preferred the walk north, across three breakwaters, passing two piers, and fishermen, and the spots where all the shore birds gather in flocks, then all the way across Beer Can Island, the broken trees, past the lagoon and the sun rising, and to Longboat Pass Bridge, the sun on the pilings underneath, and the occasional wading great blue heron or ibis. Tomorrow, I will wake on the Charles River, home. Imagine! And then there will be spring. But I’m feeling like a cheat. As if, being here these two months, I’ve not earned the spring of New England, the waking of the buds and the warming of the soil and the seeds falling from the trees, and the grass turning green. I’ll have to think about this some more, as I move, so strangely, from summer into spring. What a remarkable journey into the beauty of this Gulf of Mexico I have had the good fortune to experience. Last night, before sleeping, I opened the post card poems file and worked a bit. Now, I take my last few pictures, and pick up my pace. I’m walking fast, fast back to the entrance. We have a plane to catch, and Suzi and Charlie are waiting for my return.