In this long winter, as I shovel snow, I think about the sea wall in Campeche, walking along the sea coast looking at the fort in the distance. The same warm, placid Gulf I had seen since I was a child. Over my illness, money in my pocket, and nowhere to be for the night. As the snow begins to melt, I remember that in Florida it is Spring, and that someday I will be warm again, and have all the time in the world. It isn’t now. It can’t be now. But it will be