Stepping out of my car, a tingling sensation quickly crept up in the back of my throat as I took my first breath of the salty sea breeze. It was only a matter of seconds before I released a powerful cough from the deepest part of my chest. Shocked at the instantaneous onset of symptoms, but determined to witness my state’s most valued treasure, I began the short walk down to the Juno Beach Pier, cautiously breathing every step of the way.

Typically an overly-bustling access point for residents and tourists alike, a completely barren boardwalk was waiting, offering nothing but to serve as a landmark amidst a floating bacteria ground.

Being born and raised in Naples, Florida, I am not a stranger to Red Tide; I’ve observed the piles of dead fish, been refused beach access, and have experienced the itchy eyes that come in tote with the bacteria bloom every year. Since my younger years, I have migrated to the busier side of the state, and have enjoyed the Atlantic Ocean until recent months. Little did I know something far more large and dangerous was looming on the coast than an abundance of seaweed.

Now, beaches in Palm Beach county are being swiped clean by volunteers to remove dead fish carcasses and red tape is being tied to access points, preventing beach-goers access to their own backyard. Yet, there are still so many people who cannot, perhaps even will not, conceptualize the severity of the issue we are experiencing with our ocean and waterways.

As a native, it is a no-brainer to acknowledge that our economy thrives on tourism.

In the previous year alone, tourism generated an astonishing $100 billion in revenue, while offering employment to over 1,000,000 individuals.

Let’s think about that on a broader scale for a moment; if our number one attraction, besides Disney, is continuously closed off to us, seasonal residents and visitors, what is left to drive movement and economic growth south?

Beyond crippling sales for restaurants and theme-parks, as one can imagine, an enormous ripple effect could occur, withholding the potential to hinder the strength of other seemingly non-related markets, including the next big ticket sector: real estate.

According to Oxford Economics, Florida’s tourism relies on 12 other sectors, including: lodging, recreation, retail, real estate, air passenger transport, food & beverage, car rental, taxi services, and travel agents.

While the inability to utilize our state’s beautiful beaches due to toxic pathogens and bacteria may seem like a tough pill to swallow, in actuality, it is just the tip of the iceberg to something that could ultimately diminish our entire livelihood if not tended to in the fashion that it deserves.

A land unknown to most men, that is where I desire to be. The last row of spruce trees would alas reveal a vast open plain, showcasing rows of wavering lavender and amber wildflowers. A meager wooden cabin would await my arrival, boasting nothing but a tethered tin roof and a rust-colored brick fireplace, coated in the purest white jasmine. I would be perfectly tucked away into the deepest of my country’s forests, where the stars would shine brighter than the moon, and the only audible sound would be that of the riverside willow branches, creaking as they bend in the warm evening wind.

To be in such a bucolic setting would surely ease my mind of the worldly stresses bestowed upon my shoulders and those upon my mind.

I yearn to gamble in a meadow like the child that I once was, carefree, as my fingertips would cascade over the riparian’s cattails. I would dance, unrestrained, to the most spectacular jazz music, as it resounds through nature’s white-capped castles; the spruce trees dancing in toe while the mountains stretch towards the cyan sky.

Exhausted from consuming all of the earth’s energy, I would rest my tired legs on a red porch glider and begin to brood over a glass of gin, all the while redolent of lavender would begin to waver into my nostrils, drawing about a nostalgia of my first encounters with Zelda.

Her swagger was anything but demure, nonetheless resembled an angel in the way she seamlessly glided across the cream herringbone-tiled floor of the Montgomery country club. Her hair was coiled and cheeks slightly stained with the most flattering rouge; she had been the most exquisitely eloquent woman I had the pleasure of encountering that evening. We spoke of my time serving in the army, her childhood spent dancing and my dismal hopes of producing wildly successful literary contributions.

The first time our lips met, she tasted of the eldest red wine and smelled of the most transcendent honeysuckle. Oh, the touch of her lips was ethereal, and with each kiss, she sent me into an enchantment I have yet to be released from.

Living within such a close proximity to many bustling and diverse cities has an ante, but my ears have grown weary of rackety car horns and floozy night callers. The beauty of the smog sifting through the skyline like gold in a miner’s pan no longer satisfies my desire for creativity. Perhaps, hearing the delicate humming of dragon flies, whose color resemble the free-flowing grass near the water’s edge, would provide insight for my current work.

To dream, one can.

Though here I lay, eyes open, full of languor, yet filled with an undying lust for the intangible thought of what may become of me. My future is seemingly frozen and as clouded as the streets of New York city during a blinding snow storm.

As I continue to scour for a light amidst the crystalline deluge in my mind, my only hope is for my heart to continue to beat strong enough to feel; whether it may beat ceaselessly for Zelda, or for my fame-stricken literary devotees.

Inspired by the living moments of the remarkable author, F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Blows furiously through

And then in the mornings,

Mornings smell of honey and dew.

The back wooded space,

Both vast and grand,

It changes upon nightfall,

A change grisly and unplanned.

The brooding shadows sway,

Swaying this way as I lay awake.

Closing my weary child eyes,

Closing them would be a grave mistake.