By Susan Haley

The South Florida Gulf Coast is an ambiguous world of raw nature and the attempts of human taming. The mainland is protected by a series of elongated, rather narrow barrier islands worn almost like a necklace around the neck of the peninsula. Sugar-white sand littered with delicate Coquina shells kiss miles of Gulf shoreline.
Flocks of sandpipers strut, almost frantically, among the multi-hued Coquinas searching their contents for breakfast, or dinner. Tiny white sand crabs timidly dart in and out of their seaside holes eluding the raucous gulls. At tide change, just off shore, the dolphin pods arc out of the water in their own display of magnifi cence. Sometimes they are feeding, but often they are merely engaging in play and gaiety, in their joy of life, perhaps.
In wider expanses of the island beaches, sea oats and wild daisies wave in the wind gusts, offering their own version of a prairie. The bright yellow daisies are the perfect contrast to the sugar sand, turquoise water, and azure skies. Sky, sea and sand are peppered with an abundance of seabirds who nest in the estuaries along the Intra-coastal waterway. This liquid highway ambles between barrier key and main shore. It is the chain of the island necklace. At its edge, mangroves and sea grapes tangle here and there, a variety of fish, turtles and manatees taking refuge in the arms of their shallow water roots.
The old Florida shore now struggles to survive amidst the high rises, the bustling tourist shops and boat marinas. Glass restaurants have replaced the old seaside fi sh shanties, but their character lingers in our memories. The Intra-coastal is often congested now with boats and skidoos, their oily residues wafting on the surface. The Keys themselves fairly shudder at the foray. They erode and shrink at the invasion of the vegetation that once held their sand intact. The savior of it all for me, though, is the sea. We have a soul connection, this tranquil sea and I; a kinship of spirit that melds us together within the fabric of all life. It exists in me, and me in it, yet it is the master. Perhaps, that is the lure of the Gulf for many; its respite from the people noise, its power and majesty exuded, at once, with its serenity. Nature’s paradox, this Gulf Sea.
I dwell in the little burg of Nokomis nestled between Sarasota and Venice close to the water on the mainland. In dawn’s sea mist, I walk to the key and sit huddled at the shore, knees to chest, as a small roll of water unfurls at my toes. I watch the gulls play showing no concern for my human musings. Gazing then, far into the distance where the sky falls into the water, I feel a new wind stir the currents, swelling the waves, fi lling me with energy to begin a new day, a new reality, to do with what I will. Perhaps, that is the lure of the Gulf for many. The quiet times.
Dusk brings, literally, a celebration of sunset. There is a drum ceremony three nights a week on our Casey Key shore. Assembling by the sea, a throng of all ages, races and theologies gather at shore’s edge in a reverence of whatever personal spirituality they feel. They tote their bongo drums and old cooking pots to pound out the beat of the Native American Sunset Dance. A huge circle grows as the sun slowly descends and the drum rhythm builds to a crescendo of Cosmic joy as the red-orange orb dances on the water. The air clarity and ocean current encourages a mural of magnificence across the heavens and the sea’s fiery surface as the sun disappears below the western sphere. A day is done. You have done with it what you have. You release it to the depths with the sun. Perhaps, this is the lure of
the Gulf, the joining of man and nature.
The sea, dark and endless, is an enigma at night. When sleep evades me, I ride along the key road peering into the blackness that is the water. That the water is there is an absolute, but where it begins and how far it travels to the horizon is shrouded in obscurity. Yet, you can hear it; hear the gentle surf of it tumbling onto the sand, composing its own kind of symphony. Perhaps, it’s the sea at night that lures. Its mystery.
Now and then, though, this gentle Gulf Sea sheds its calm and riles mightily. In the two year period of 2004 and 2005, eight powerful hurricanes entered the Gulf of Mexico; six of them preceded the unforgettable Katrina in 2005. When Hurricane Ivan, a massive Category 5 storm, roared north through the Gulf bearing down on the Panhandle in 2004, our coast, still reeling from Hurricane Charlie’s battering a couple of weeks before, was pummeled again with Ivan’s resulting mountainous surf. This time, the bridges were left open to mainland residents. Leaning on the wind, I stood in awe of the raw power of this now angry sea. I was humbled by its message of wrath, its ferocity. I pondered why humankind seems intent to build in the few areas where Nature should be unmolested, left to be what it is...wild and free. And a protector, too, these barrier islands. Nature must be nurtured if this planet and its resources are to continue providing us our home and our survival in this physical dimension. I can’t imagine living without this gentle Gulf Sea in my own veins and its salt breath in my own lungs. It sings to us its songs if we’ll but listen, listen like the dolphins listen as they arc up and out of the water and bow to the sun. The sea makes us think and appreciate. It also reminds us of our smallness in the big scheme of things. Maybe that is the lure of the Gulf... the joy in the attainment of a natural wisdom and humility in a world of competition and bustle.

Susan Haley is the published author of two books, several articles on networking, an award-winning poet, and the copy editor and book reviewer for Peppertree Press Publishing. She is a columnist for “The Florida Writer” the offi cial magazine of the Florida Writers Association, and serves as Facilitator for the Sarasota County Chapter. The audio version of her novel “RAINY DAY PEOPLE” was recently awarded runner-up Finalist in the 2008 Indie Excellence National Book Awards. She also contributes a variety of editorials and excerpts of her work to various E-zines, newsletters, and local papers.