Old Bahia Bridge

It was too much to hope for a bright sparkly sunrise with all the clouds overhead but a late cold front brought energizing cool air so we got energetic did Rusty and I.

I went bird spotting and he went looking for other things which he did not seem to find whatever they were.

And then the motorcycles went by on the highway and I was reminded I can ride again after seven months away.

 And I can walk gravel trails, at least some of them, even without my cane which I am trying to ditch to encourage me to walk straight.

The surgeon told me most of the physical improvement I will see will come in the first year of recovery so I am exercising like mad, walking Rusty and going to the gym to make my legs work properly.

 Walking provides opportunities for photography:

 And opportunities for Rusty:

 And what happened here I have no idea:

 King of the Castle:

 Hurricane Irma tore the area under the bridge apart. Now closed to people:

 The Old Bahia Honda Bridge:

Paint And Art In The Woods

Hitting the dirt is getting easier and easier for me, even nowadays when I walk without even a cane!

 I used to come out all the time to check out the abandoned cement pipes in the mangroves. 

 Finally I was able to make it back and enjoy the informal paintball field and open air artwork:

 Open warfare across trenches of pipes:

My constant companion:

 The paint ballers are funny: they use old carpet to protect their knees from...

...paintball fire:

 The pipe field by the light of the setting sun:

 A rusting trailer:

 

 How this rubber dinghy got here I can't imagine, miles from tidal water access:

 Oolite rocks, particular to the area with their funny cheese-like holes:

Civilization in the distance: 

Alternative Living

I was in Little Hamaca City Park next to the airport when I realized something was amiss. The homeless were gone. Of course one day with swallows does not a Spring make and conversely a day without residentially challenged people hanging out in the park doesn't mean they've migrated but it kind of looked that way.

I stopped to inspect the park bench where one old guy hung out every day during winter. I brought Rusty here a lot when I was recovering and staying in an apartment nearby. And every day the old dude was sitting at the picnic table staring into space. It looked incredibly boring.

Rusty found nothing to hold his interest and i looked out at the road for a bit and wondered if I should have tried to engage the old guy in conversation. Probably not, not least because it feels to me like an invasion of their (public) space.

The weird thing in Key West is the migratory pattern of many, dare I say most? of the homeless. Summertime and they join the snowbirds in leaving town. I find it rather odd.

Rusty and I wandered around a bit then went further down the park, to a more shady area with a  convenient handicapped parking spot.

And lots of inconvenient reminders of the former denizens of the open spaces:

Rusty checking it all out:

I also found Nature doing its thing:

But I did have to ask myself where did they go and why leave?

Seagrapes getting ready to mature and taste good when they get dark purple:

I guess they will be back next inter the hobos. Maybe I should just ask them where they go...