We are surrounded by poinciana trees here at Fry’s Fish Camp. Every winter they go quiet — bare branches, nothing to say.
Then spring arrives. Then rain. And they just explode. That red is like nothing else. You can practically hear the gratitude.
This was the first day of the rainy season. The kind of rain that doesn’t apologize. It came down hard and turned everything electric — blooms blazing, green so green it almost hurt, the whole garden dripping and relieved.
Heaven.
