Tropical Morning

Here a rustling in the brush means a lizard not a squirrel. And the birds are different, too, though they still rub their beaks clean against a dead tree limb in that quick one-two way, just as the birds do at home, as birds do everywhere, I guess. 

There’s a loud clattering behind the palms. A lizard, too? Or maybe a squirrel after all. Maybe there is more familiar here than it first appears.

I’m sitting by the pool before 8 a.m., writing these words. A dove coos. Birds tweet. Air conditioners hum. The sounds of a tropical morning.

I'm looking at a tall banana tree now, at a big leaf in the process of shredding. A plant that bends  but does not break. Palm trees don't crash to the ground in a tropical storm. They sway but stay rooted. That would be different, not having to worry about the great oaks falling.

Would I tire of the sameness here? Maybe ... or maybe not.