Flying Memories

I grew up on the bay, with a gorgeous backyard that was water. Two little green islands about half a mile away where we'd kayak, dodging all the big yachts and jet skis that would drive by on the weekends. One was always covered in white. We never went to that one, but it will forever be in my memories. It looked like it had snowed on this little piece of floating land in the middle of Miami. It was a magical snow globe wonderland to me and my brother. "It's because of all the birds that live there," my dad would say. There were always packs and packs of birds flying around when we'd be trying to fly our kite in the backyard. The birds came to be replaced by airplanes. The snow melted from the island and never returned. We stopped kayaking. The islands got covered in trash. My parents got divorced, we sold the house. Every time I drive the Julia Tuttle I look out to that island to see if maybe maybe the snow has begun to fall again, but the birds still haven't come back. My memories the only thing shaken, the snow globe broken.