Why Do We Need The Moon When We Have The Stars?

Yesterday at the gloaming I wandered through my garden dead heading the spent blooms of the fifteen or so rose bushes bursting in flower and watering the newly planted petunias.  The temperature was perfect, dry, not too cold, not too hot, there was a stillness, the world around me was at rest, the garden had never looked better.  I reminded myself of the numerous mornings I had sat on a nearby bench deep into the garden's perfumes, watching the fountains playing, hearing their plash (as Henry James would have it).  In thirty days I will leave this scene forever to take up residence on third floor condominium the long galleria of which overlooks a courtyard with swimming pool, shuffleboard, and lawn, and distance glimpses of a shopping mall parking lot while out the front door onto the walkway the view is to the nearby middle school, actually a form of some architectural interest, although in the foreground is the macadam parking lot for the teachers.  By midday the temperature will reach the high eighties and the humidity will go above fifty; air conditioning will be inevitable.  We have wintered in Sarasota for five years, and the relief at being able to walk out every day without the fear of slipping and falling makes it wonderful.  But we have discovered in addition the delights of the symphony, the opera, the five theaters, the chamber music concerts, jazz concerts, all easy and close to drive to.  There is the bus that takes me in minutes to the  public library and the wonderful bookstore.  If I am willing to take the time I can take the bus to a university library, an major art museum, and a university lecture series although I usually drive.  That is our winter in Sarasota.  Summer will be emptier.  But I will still be able to go on foot to the supermarket, the gym, Trader Joe's, the home pasta shop, the masseur, and three fabulous restaurants, one French, one Italian, one Japanese.  Here I sit in my garden, loving every minute of it, but knowing that the winters make it impossible, knowing that almost every one of those activities above require either a tortuous trip into Boston 21 miles away over hideously overcrowded highways.  People on the south shore, well, I just don't know what they do with themselves.  So, bye-bye, blossoms, it was great to know ya!