On my flight out of New York City, I was excited to pass directly over Washington Heights. If I wasn't on this plane, I thought, I would probably be running on the path along the river, which I could see hundreds of feet below me. I felt tiny and omnipotent, the way I imagine might happen in the minutes after death, when you take flight for a state that's not Florida. I was looking forward to my annual trip now that winter had finally arrived in New York City. The shortness of the season in the global warming era (roughly March 1 to March 15) somehow makes it seem even more unbearable. My flight to West Palm was mostly unremarkable except for the food consumed by the young person in the seat next to me. This food included: 1) a takeout container of ten or twelve gyoza dumplings; 2) a packet of smoked salmon opened and extracted with fingers and eaten with four slices of bread; 3) a second packet of smoked salmon eaten with four more slices of bread; and 4) a x-l container of sushi, and 5) another x-l container of sushi. (The flight was only ~2.5 hours.) I should say that I've enjoyed all of these foods at different points in my life but I wouldn't recommend bringing any of them on a crowded plane. I was so traumatized by the parade of fish that I barely noticed when the jerk in front of me reclined all the way back. As it usually does on flights these days (assuming you're in economy), society seemed to be on the brink of collapse. I soon recovered, however, and except for a newly developed lifelong aversion to smoked salmon, I made it to West Palm unscathed. The weather in Florida was blessedly warm. Retirement in the "sunshine state" seemed increasingly palatable. The orange juice was so fresh and delicious. It was very windy. I made it to the beach, where I quietly proclaimed my status as an ironic supporter of non-war movements. Retreating to the cover of my beach towel, it seemed incomprehensible that we had arrived at this juncture. (Leaving "we" completely open to interpretation.) The next morning, accompanied by my mother, brother, and niece, I hiked into the jungle, which was filled with butterflies. I took a picture so I would remember the name of the most common variety, which can be found in the lower-left corner. Spring had officially arrived in Florida. I saw this sign and wished that it had been installed on my flight with some minor edits. "NO EATING OF FISH PERMITTED AND ESPECIALLY NOT SMOKED SALMON IF YOU PLAN TO EAT TWO PACKS OF IT WITH YOUR FINGERS AND WIPE OFF THE OIL ON THE BACK OF THE SEAT IN FRONT OF YOU :(" A purple flower seemed oblivious to the political realities. Some of the trees had yet to leaf out, which gave them a haunted quality. As I did every year walking through the forest in Florida, I imagined a post-apocalyptic life spent running from zombies. The simplicity of such a life continued to hold much allure. Still, it would be difficult to get anywhere through the mangrove trees. The Walking Dead, I remembered, had rather quickly gone from being the best show on television to the worst. Lately I had been ff-ing (x3) through most of it.But things weren't so bad. At least I could still pretend to be living in a dense, inhospitable landscape filled with Republicans trying to pass anti-gay "religious freedom" bills flesh-eating zombies. Soon Florida would be gone, awash in the rising ocean, but that was still a few years away; for now, I was determined to enjoy the magical light, which makes anything seem possible.