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My Boca Grande As a child crossing the bridge was an event. A day of freedom, of ice cream, of swift water and sunburns. My favorite beach was … is … here. Stonehenge looms above the waves, sometimes only ankle-deep in water, sometimes waist deep. Banyan Street beckons, and it was … is … there where I speak to the trees. I play them a song, I whisper my salutation. They nod along sometimes, and other times they just hum quietly with life. They constantly spread their leaves to cover the man made road, The landscapers come and quickly put them in order. The trees sigh when they leave, and begin again in earnest to make the road their own again. Dogs in golf carts, their owners drinking wine and caressing their loved heads. I want to come back as a Boca Grande dog. Memories of the Laff-a-Lot, where fishermen gathered to laugh – and to drink – when the rains came. Sometimes we had to leave, it was so raucous. I loved it then, I love it now. The people, the sand, the smell of salt air … They will be part of me forever. – Marcy Shortuse


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