Irony, hope, or an order? Perhaps a reflection of my mood...
A couple of blocks from my work there are a few streets filled with Conch cottages, trees and shrubs and occasional quirky decorating motifs.
It's where I come from time to time to get some relief from work, where I have to sit and listen to misery and anger for hours at a time.
On Eliza Street I find a different world especially at this time of year when there is no one around, no earnest winter cyclists in broad brimmed hats clutching sweaty maps of impenetrable streets.
The sign on the door said "Star Fleet" but I think of this place less as intergalactic and more as the brush house. I included a hint as to why that is in the lower part of the frame. I wish I had the nerve to live in a house so blue but my Pepto-Bismol home on Cudjoe Key has weathered to a more acceptable shade of fade. This one I liked not necessarily for the relatively sober colors but for the mass of rooflines:
Rooflines and palm fronds everywhere. I tend to walk around here with my head in the air.
