The warm wet breeze of the noon-day rolled over the treetops and washed down upon the dock yard. The heavy scent of salt mixed with the acrid scent of rotting fish, beached kelp bleaching in the sun, and palm fronds rotting where they fell. As the tide of air ebbed for a moment, the smell of sealants, paints, and rust rushed up to fill the void, only to be overpowered by the sickly sweet fragrance of tropical flowers in full bloom. Beneath the strong overtones the slightest hint of yesterday’s frozen rum drink spilled across the nearly ceremonially small patch of grass, slightly overgrown, turned into a sugary mass of quickly blackening goo alive with hordes of ants desperately defending this once-in-a-short-lifetime find from the various less identifiable bugs intent on getting theirs before the getting was done. The unwashed dog, wet from a swim in the unnaturally green water of the marina, temporarily invaded the scene as it went sprinting past, toward the direction of his master just rousing from a drunken slumber upon the hard. Stale puddles of water dotting the slightly muddy ground, teemed with life of all minute descriptions, chief among them the clouds of mosquitoes that arose in response to a set of heavy footfalls approaching. With another crash of the wind wave in the tops of the swaying palms, the smells of land were washed over with dreams of the sea.
