Florida is a lie. The warm sun, the ocean breezes, the year-round flowers: all lies. They are the forgetful lotus, the siren song lulling the unaware to poisoned sleep. This is not real. Were it real life in the tropics you would be malnourished and riddled with parasites, rather than fat and relaxed. Give me the dark grandeur of mountains. They might keep my soul alive. The tropics have been tamed, their wildness subjected to air conditioning and lawn mowers. Buy up beach front property and be lulled into the life of pleasure and ease.
This is our American Heaven, live your life well and you get to come here when you retire. But it is not heaven. It is anesthesia for the heart. Put you down quietly, forget the evils of your world, forget your obligations to the needy, forget the needs of your soul, sit in a comfortable chair under a palm tree and forget it all. But Florida is a lie. Even this world is not tamed. The Hurricanes and heart attacks will come like thieves in the night. The fountain of warm-climate youthful sensation will dry up. Give me the dark grandeur of the mountains where the sight of immensity or the shroud of fog will remind me of my death daily. I hope that I may consume fewer pre-packaged comforts and perhaps pay some attention to the state of my soul.