Squiddo's family and I drove out to St. Pete for some fishing Wednesday evening. Nothing was biting, but the raft was in the car, so I blew her up and rowed her out.

First time rowing here, and it's beautiful. The bay warm and calm as bath water, up in the tangley mangroves, there's egrets, herons and pelicans all doing their nails and shit. No bugs, that's no small feat in Florida. Perfect. I'm thinking for the hundredth time how much I love it here, and having the weird feeling that South is where I want to be, where I have to be.

I'm hugging close to the shore, waiting for thunderheads to roll over, scattered storms in the forecast to keep in mind. Clouds pass, the sun busts through and I'm off to the first islet I can see. There's all manner of birds out there, and it's maybe 100 yards off shore. Why not, I'll row out and back.

( It took some doing getting back. )