“And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you
I will show you fear in a handful of dust”, T.S. Eliot
We were in Orlando to play golf. We had a great time, but each night after dinner, we returned to our rental house in a gated community.
“Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky tacky,
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes all the same.
There’s a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one,
And they’re all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same”, Malvina Reynolds
The houses are, indeed, all the same. They all have identical swimming pools and lanais. They are all empty. Perhaps they are owned by snow birds that have gone home to Canada or the northern U.S. Perhaps this is a busy place in December, but in late March, it is a wasteland.
“And the only sound that’s left
After the ambulances go
Is Cinderella sweeping up
On desolation row”, Bob Dylan